


A Sweet Far Thing

by OrchidScript



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Edwardian Period, F/M, Kell is trans, M/M, More tags to be added -- stay tuned, but fantasy, trans themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrchidScript/pseuds/OrchidScript
Summary: "Growing up, Holland had been taught not to stare.It was rude. It made others uncomfortable. Polite little boys didn’t do such things, or so his mother had told him and his brother. In a few short months, he had unlearned those lessons. He had been happy to cast them off. Because, Holland reasoned, a beautiful painting was meant to be stared at. A finely done statue was meant to be stared at. Beautiful things were meant to be stared at, lingered over, and studied. Meant to be appreciated, admired, treasured as long as they existed.Kell Maresh was his finely done statue."Edwardian AU romance. Updates Mondays.
Relationships: Alucard Emery/Rhy Maresh, Kell Maresh/Holland Vosijk
Comments: 25
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Usually I don't start another multi-chapter long fic before I finish the one I'm currently working on, but I couldn't keep this to myself anymore. I've been working on it for a few months now and have finally decided to post it. This fic is a complete mash of my usual modus operandi -- it's a historic AU, taking place during the Edwardian era (1901-1914, approximately), keeps the magic and multiple fantastic Londons, and incorporates some new things just for this world.
> 
> This is dedicated to a cadre of dear friends who are wonderful people, wonderful writers, and wonderful enablers. Thank you for being my sounding board and for letting me be yours too :)
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

Growing up, Holland had been taught not to stare. 

It was rude. It made others uncomfortable. Polite little boys didn’t do such things, or so his mother had told him and his brother.

In a few short months, he had unlearned those lessons. He had been happy to cast them off. Because, Holland reasoned, a beautiful painting was meant to be stared at. A finely done statue was meant to be stared at. Beautiful things were meant to be stared at, lingered over, and studied. Meant to be appreciated, admired, treasured as long as they existed.

Kell Maresh was his finely done statue.

Her lithe, pale limbs scattered with freckles. The long column of her neck. The cascade of impossibly red hair over shoulders and back. She was beautiful, and Holland could often only stare. As she dressed and pinned her hair up each morning. As she walked to her bath in the evening, swanning about their rooms in a silk robe and nothing else. As she leaned over his shoulder to inspect his book, held his hand on walks in parks, and spun around ballrooms in his arms, her one blue eye shining with drink and lust.

She was beautiful, and he loved her.

For she was his fine work of art. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t suppose you tried to scale back on the extravagance this year?” Kell mused, casting a skeptical glance about the ballroom. Glittering and trimmed to within an inch of its life, just how her brother preferred.

“Come now!” Rhy grinned. “You only turn twenty-eight once!”

“Only if you’re honest,” Kell smiled and twirled a stray hair around her finger. Guests would be arriving any minute, but for the moment it was only her and her brother. She turned, lifting the edge of her gown as she walked the perimeter of the room -- one last review before others laid eyes on it. 

The cream marble floors polished to a high shine. Candles scattered throughout the room in support of the low-lit chandeliers, giving the large room a hushed, romantic glow. Flowers tumbled out of vases and pots, curled in tendrils up columns and stair railing. The windows were open to the early November evening, letting in just enough of the autumn chill to temper the warmth that would build over the course of the evening.

“Now when have I ever been honest, Kell?” Rhy teased, watching her as she strode through the room. That wide grin remained plastered to his face.

“An hour ago, I hope,” Kell said, tapping her fan against her knuckles. “You said I looked lovely in my new dress."

“Ah now  _ that _ I would never lie about.”

“Because I’m your favorite sister?”

“Because you’re my  _ only _ sister and  _ I _ bought the damned dress,” Rhy laughed. He turned and motioned for the doors to be opened to the waiting guests. “I wouldn’t have you looking anything less than elegant for my birthday.”

Kell spun one last time, then returned to his side. “How about when it isn’t your birthday?”

“Then that is entirely on you. I can only do so much.” Rhy grinned wickedly and nudged her in the ribs. “Look alive, Kell. We have guests to entertain.”

Kell just laughed and went to find herself a glass of champagne. 

The ballroom slowly filled with people, some Kell recognized and many more she did not. Members of the aristocracy, the  _ ostra _ and  _ vestra _ of London that they had grown up around. Plenty of Rhy’s friends and acquaintances, ex bedmates and lovers. All crowding into the Grand Hall. Kell did her best, standing alongside Rhy and greeting every last one of them with warmth, just like their parents had taught them to as children. As soon as the last guest breezed past them into the party proper, the Maresh siblings retreated to where they were each most comfortable -- Rhy to the center of the room and Alucard Emery’s arm; Kell to the edges, the periphery, observing and drinking quietly. 

Candles flickered and went out. Kell relit them. 

Glasses fell and shattered. Kell waved a hand and they returned to shape. 

She drifted about the edge of the room. Occasionally being pulled into a conversation by Rhy or approached by a newcomer for an introduction. More often than not, Kell was allowed to sip drink after drink in contented quiet, enjoying the music, and mending the small problems that arose. She kept happily to herself, observing the chaos, smiling at the eyes that lingered on her dress, on her. 

She was glad Rhy chose black, letting the Maresh standard’s crimson take a back seat to the darker color. She preferred black. The way it cut against her pale skin and copper hair. Made her look sharper, taller, as if she floated through the darkened room. Kell felt queenly, surveying court with a glass of wine in her hand.

She laughed at herself for thinking it, taking a sip from her glass to cover it. She would be a terrible ruler, even if she could look the part effortlessly.

A waving hand caught her eye and she looked up. Rhy was standing by the main door again, waving her over.

“Yes?” Kell asked once within earshot.

Her brother only smiled and gestured to someone she had not seen. “We’ve had a late arrival. You know how the streetcars can be.” He took her hand and pulled her to his side. “Let me introduce the newest member of my cadre. Holland Vosijk, this is my sister. Kell, Holland.”

“ _ Avan _ ,” Kell smiled and extended a hand without truly seeing the man in front of her. Her gaze focused when he took her hand between both of his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Holland answered, his voice a deep rumble. He looked Kell in the eyes, as tall as she was but broad and strong where Kell had always been lanky and slim. Kell’s breath caught at the man’s eyes. One was a deep, warm evergreen that held her in place and seemed to pull back more layers of self than she knew she had. The other was a solid, shining black -- just like Kell’s right. Kell hardly noticed Rhy smoothly rejoined the crowd of guests.

“You’re a magician,” Kell said quietly, without thinking, as Holland took her hand and lightly kissed the back of it. “You’re  _ antari _ , like m--.”

“You don’t remember me?” Holland asked, slowly straightening up. He still held her hand in his, as though he had forgotten it. Kell hoped, perhaps, that the man didn’t want to let go.

“I should think I would,” Kell answered quickly. She took a long drink from her glass to try disguising her hot flush, cursing her fair complexion. “If you’re friends with my brother, you must be memorable. H-How do you remember me?”

Holland only smiled and pointed to Kell’s glass. “Before that, where can I get myself one of those?”

“Oh, of course.” Kell turned and waved over a server with a tray of wine glasses. With a polite smile, she waited for Holland to pick a glass and the server to move away. But her insides were churning with curiosity. When had he known her? How embarrassing was this going to be to her, and how much explaining would she have to provide? 

She hoped none, on both counts. 

She waited until Holland had taken a few sips of his drink, then jumped. She rests a light hand on his arm, bringing his eyes back to her’s. She smiles at the faint pull she feels -- like seeing like, magic seeing magic and wanting to meet. “You’ll forgive me for my faulty memory, but I would very much like to know. When exactly did we meet?”

“It was a long time ago,” Holland answered, lowering her voice so only she would hear. In one movement, he gently tucked her hand under his arm and guided her back towards the fringes of the ballroom. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not one for parties. This is a courtesy to your brother, but I prefer eh… quieter affairs.”

Kell smiled knowingly and nodded. “Another way we’re alike then. Rhy, on the other hand, has never known the definition of subtlety.”

“No, but it is impressive to watch.”

“Agreed, but the guests,” Kell smirked. She nods towards the center of the room, catching Holland’s gaze. “The guests are what’s really worth watching. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Not at all. I can’t help but agree…” Holland paused, then angled to better look Kell in the eyes. Something glints in his green eye, mischievous and cheerful. It doesn’t look entirely out of place in his more serious features. “Does that mean I’m worth watching,  _ mas varnesa _ ?”

Kell sipped her wine, preening underneath her smile at the word. Most would forget themselves, choosing her old title out of habit, but Holland had known the correct one without question or reminder. After mere minutes and perhaps knowing her much younger self, Holland Vosijk knew to call her  _ varnesa _ . 

_ Princess _ .

“I suppose it does,  _ res naster _ .” Kell shrugged. “It’s not often I meet another magician like… well, like us. Not to mention how few of my brother’s guests are both polite  _ and _ handsome.”

“Handsome. Well,” Holland huffs a laugh. “It’s not often I’m called that. But, your question.”

“Oh right, yes. You said it was a long time ago.”

“It was. You and your brother were teenagers, your parents were still alive,” Holland said easily, evenly. 

Kell bit the inside of her lip and nodded. Dread bled into her limbs. She hoped her flattery would get her farther than she now believed she would. “A very long time ago, then…”

“Yes, indeed. About twelve years.” Holland takes a long sip of wine. “I returned to this London a few years ago, intending to stay, but it’s taken some time to reconnect with former acquaintances and friends. Your brother being one of the first, which I’m grateful for, all exceedingly glamorous things aside.”

“Not all glamorous things, I hope,” Kell murmured.

“No, not all.” Holland smiled. “It’s been some time. Kell, you’ve--.”

“Changed,” Kell interrupted, heart beating fast in her chest. “I’ve changed quite a bit, so I hope you forgive my memory. I don’t entirely remember you, but—.”

“I remember you before,” Holland held up a hand to stop her rambling. His expression hadn’t changed. Still the same patient, serious expression. “I’d remember that hair anywhere.”

“Oh...” Kell didn’t know what else to say. It was delivered so matter-of-factly, so precisely. It occurred to her that Holland Vosijk was observing, not judging.

The man’s face fell slightly, a realization dawning on his features. Nodding to himself, he steps forward and tucks his head to Kell’s ear. “Did I say something wrong,  _ varnesa _ ?”

“No, not at all. Just caught me by surprise, I…” Kell’s voice trails off. “I just think that’s rather unfortunate, that you remember me at my unhappiest…” She takes another breath and tries a small smile. “I hope you’d take the chance to meet me... Well...”

“At your happiest?” Holland supplied, an eyebrow raised.

“As myself,” Kell added. Feeling braver now, she rests a hand on Holland’s and smiles at him. “But, yes, at my happiest.”

~*~*

Late that night, Kell lay stretched out in bed. She grinned up at the midnight sky and stars painted on the ceiling of her bedroom. The warmth of the wine had long since faded from her blood, but she was still bubbling on the inside.

She always found a way to enjoy Rhy’s parties, to be sure. But she had not enjoyed one this much in years. That evening she had laughed, had danced until her feet ached, had too much to drink. Had hung off the arm of one person the whole time. 

Holland Vosijk. A transplant from the city she remembered as White London. An  _ antari _ magician just like herself who was a half-decent dance partner, who smoothly kept up with changing faces and royal gossip; who was surprisingly funny and had a full, deep laugh to match. Who’s hand stayed steady at the small of her back and bright green eyes left her knees weak.

Holland Vosijk, who remembered her but still called her  _ princess _ . 

Just the thought made her warm from the inside out. A glowing feeling spreading from her chest, out to her fingernails and her toes. If Kell didn’t know better, she might have thought the ends of her hair were glowing too. Under her blankets and quilts, Kell was bright, warm, as pleased as she had ever been. So much so, words failed to capture the sensation. But those feelings began and ended with one man. 

Kell grinned in the dark, unable to dampen the expression. One man with dark hair, vivid green eyes, and a wicked sense of humor. Who seemed to see nothing but what was in front of him; who simply knew, smiled and accepted, then asked her to dance. Rhy could have told him, could have made him aware, but even that didn’t put a dent in Kell’s good mood.

She wanted to see Holland Vosijk again, try her luck with the older man one more time. See if the spark and glow would come back to her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Back with a new chapter, another meeting, and more characters. Thank you all for the love you've given this story already -- I don't think I've ever had a fic garner so many kudos in so little time. It's really lovely to wake up to everyday, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy. And also let me know what you think -- feedback is always welcome :)
> 
> So, thank you for your time and on to the next chapter!

A week passed before Kell received her next chance. It was a quiet week — court was small, audiences limited, political matters to be attended to few and far between. Rhy had no more plans for lavish entertainment and no messages for Kell to deliver. It left a glaring amount of open time in each day. 

Open for boredom, exhaustion, and daydreaming.

Alucard had caught her daydreaming while trying to read in the conservatory. 

It was Kell’s favorite place outside of her bedroom — aged mirrored walls, a high domed glass ceiling letting in soft sunlight, the gold veining of the royal marble, the rest of the room lush and green as an oasis in the desert. She had come to think of it as her’s over the years. Rhy has his study and now a receiving room as king. Their parents always preferred the gardens and ballrooms. But Kell liked the small circular room tucked to the back of the Soner Rast’s sprawl. 

Out of the way, peaceful. The perfect quiet spot to read, write a long letter, practice spells, or idly wonder about how another magician’s hands would feel running up the inside of her leg.

Alucard had caught her in her imagination that morning, lounging on the couch and pretending to read the same lines over and over. He had snatched the book from her hands and loudly announced the pink flush that sat high in her cheeks. Kell had reacted quicker than Rhy’s paramour had been expecting. Scowling, she had shoved the man backwards with a flick of her fingers, sending him sprawling as the marble floor rolled underneath his shoes.

“Is it more satisfying to use your magic, princess?” Alucard smirked from the ground, watching Kell as she stood and strode to her writing desk. 

“Don’t press your luck, Emery,” Kell huffed, dropping down into her chair and opening her book loudly. “Aren’t you supposed to be with my brother?”

“Not for another hour, so I decided to bother you,” Alucard answered, then scoffed at the face she pulled. “Oh don’t be so offended. You’re the one wandering around the palace with a besotted look on your face all day long, not me.”

“I do not!”

“You do!”

“I do  _ not _ !”

“Yes, you do! You’ve spent days on end now looking positively love-sick!”

“Since when do you pay any mind to my face, Emery?” Kell pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. She breathed deeply in through her nose, feeling the annoyance in her blood cool. 

She and Alucard had learned to tolerate one another in the years since he had come to live with them permanently in the Soner Rast. He was less the aggravating rake now than he had been when Kell was younger, but he still found ways to get under her skin. He irritated Kell still, but she couldn’t hold too much animosity for the former sailor anymore. He had remained loyally at Rhy’s side, supporting the young king through moments even Kell couldn’t have. Besides, her hatred for him lessened when her store of rage itself lessened.

“Only when you aren’t constantly scowling,” Alucard shrugs. “That seems to be a novelty. So!”

Kell groaned. “Don’t you dare--.”

“Who’s the one person in Arnes lucky enough to receive your favor?” Alucard continued, unheeded. “Because that in and of itself is exceedingly rare, and I’d like to tell them myself.”

“Why would I tell you?” Kell sighed. “Of all people, Alucard, why would I confide in you?”

“You don’t confide in anyone, Kell. So why not me? It isn’t as if I care enough about you to judge as harshly as Rhy.”

“And I don’t care enough about you to lie.” Kell closed her book with a snap and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. She stared ahead into the mirrored walls, only meeting Alucard’s eyes there. She chewed her lip a moment, then relented. It wasn’t a state secret… “Fine. Rhy’s new friend, the antari from Makt—.”

“Vosijk?” Alucard supplied. He suddenly looked impressed, something that set Kell’s teeth on edge. “Really, him?”

“You said you wouldn’t judge.”

“I said I wouldn’t judge  _ harshly _ . There is a difference.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well, yes,” Alucard grinned. “But what I am right now is intrigued.”

Kell arched an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because Vosijk doesn’t… He’s a part of the circle in name only. He’s in it for the connection to Rhy, because he’s certainly not in it for the excitement.” Alucard pushes himself up off the floor, brushing some unseen dust from his waistcoat.

“Are you trying to warn me against him?” Kell stared up at the man in surprise and awe.

“Not in the slightest. He’s a perfectly fine person, and I don’t care what you do with your time or attentions, but.” Alucard walked over to stand in front of Kell, resting his palms flat on the wooden table to lean in forward. “I’ve never seen you… like this. It’s nice, but —.”

“Prepare myself for disappointment?” Kell finished for him. She leaned forward, resting clasped hands between Alucard’s, and looked up at him. His expression was a few things Kell didn’t often see -- seriously, earnest, nearly gentle. She matched her tone to them. “I’m nearly thirty, Alucard. I am well acquainted with disappointment. You know that.”

Alucard nodded. “Point taken. I won’t mention it again.”

“Please don’t.”

“Does he…” Alucard paused, then seemed to make up his mind. “Does he know about… about  _ you _ , Kell?”

It was a very subtle emphasis, but just enough to solidify the question — one Kell had been expecting to come. Everyone seemed to ask it now and again. Kell simply nodded slowly. “He guessed.”

“Guessed?”

“He said we met once when I was younger,” Kell exhaled, pushing Alucard away. “You’re not my keeper, Alucard. And neither is Rhy. I can take care of myself. Our parents saw to that themselves.”

Alucard stepped back, letting out a long breath. “They certainly did, didn’t they? I’ll… I’ll leave you in peace.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, for answering my question. You don’t mind if I tell Rhy, do you?”

“Get out, now. Before I give into the urge to light your shirt on fire.”

She waited for Alucard to leave then flicked her hand again, shutting the doors loudly with a gust of wind. With a heavy exhale, Kell slumped forward, resting her head against the cool wood. She’d have to work on keeping her thoughts in her head and off of her face. She didn’t need the whole court knowing — or worse, assuming — what was going on in her head. 

At the end of the day, self control was all she had.

Kell tried to turn back to her book, but just as before she couldn’t quite focus on its pages. Pages and pages of old magic she was trying in vain to absorb. Frustrated, she shut its cover for the third time. It wasn’t worth forcing it when a clear head would fix the issue. With a heavy sigh, she stood and began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth across the royal marble, the heels of her shoes clicking against the stone and its vein of gold, punctuating her thoughts. She picked the skin next to her fingernails as she went.

Alucard was right, loathe as Kell was to admit it. She had been thinking about the man in the week since they had met -- been reintroduced, Kell supposes. He hadn’t consumed her thoughts, but he was certainly present. Sitting in the back of her brain, coming forward in the empty hours of the day, when the conversation listed at dinner, when she was drifting to sleep. The way he held her hand as they turned around the ballroom, the dark glimmer of his eyes in candlelight, the soft brush of his hair as her temple as he pulled her in closer.

It couldn’t have been a fluke. 

Kell wasn’t altogether certain, but she wasn’t imagining things. Holland had held her closer and closer as the evening went on. As he left, he had been the last person to bid her goodnight. Even when he drifted away for a moment, he would always turn up at her side again.

That couldn’t have been nothing. 

Kell hoped it hadn’t been. It could have been a play for more secure footing in Rhy’s circle. Warm up to the sister everyone in Arnes recognized as the young king’s protector and lifelong shield. A move that would get him to the heart of the court without much effort. A few had tried it before, but none so… successfully.

If that was true.

Kell didn’t want to believe it was. That would require admitting she had been suckered in as soon as Holland had said hello. That she had let her guard down too quickly, too sharply, too soon. It would be close to admitting she had failed, something Kell did not take lightly.

She didn’t want to believe it was true. She wanted to believe the interest was real, the flirtation genuine. She wanted to believe the sparkling glow she had felt that night could come back.

She stopped dead in her tracks, resting her head in her hands. She was playing a card game a hundred hands in. It was giving her a headache. Kell dropped her hands and tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling. Crystalline glass arching overhead, thin gold threading between each pane. The sun still hung in the sky. 

Kell turned on her heel and, snatching her coat up from where it lay, marched out into the corridor. Holding the coat up by the collar, she turned it inside out left to right, watching the fabric turn from its court appropriate red and gold into a more fashionable blue. Plainer, to be sure, and not a color Kell saw often within the coat’s many sides. But the thing tended to have a mind of its own, and that was half the reason Kell had hung onto it for so many years.

She buttoned the coat all the way up and stuffed her hands deep into the pockets despite the late autumn sunshine. She was left unbothered as she walked through the halls of the palace, out the main doors, and down the front steps onto the street. 

She wove through people as she made her way down to the river’s edge. The air cooled by the water, brushing against her cheeks and through her hair, clearing her head. The clarity was what Kell was after, and the anonymity. 

Well, something  _ like _ anonymity. 

Kell would be kidding herself if she said she didn’t see the scant few people who noticed her black eye stare for a long moment. A younger Kell would have tucked her chin and kept her gaze low to hide. When she was still a child and revered for the innate power in her skin. When she was cursed and feared after the Black Night. In the months after the deaths of her parents and so many others when she could barely stand to look someone in the eyes. The day Rhy shook her and told her she needed to stop staring at her shoes was one she hadn’t forgotten.

_ You can’t keep looking at the ground. You can’t _ . Her brother had insisted, the seriousness from age just starting to settle in his features and voice.  _ It makes you look guilty of something, I don’t know what. But I need you upright, just like me. Otherwise we’ll both fail. Understand? _

Kell had understood and had done her best ever since.

“ _ Mas varnesa _ ? Is that you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back!  
> This week: Holland's POV and something like a first date.  
> Enjoy!

Holland had caught her red hair from a bridge above the river. Tall, slim, the sharpness in her face softened by distance -- but unmistakable.

Arnes’ London was home to more people than Holland can remember seeing in a lifetime. More people, more colors, more sounds, simply _more_. He couldn’t say for sure what brought him back to this city after years away, but he couldn’t find a reason to leave either. Certainly not now.

He leaned on the bridge’s stone railing, watching Kell Maresh stroll upstream. Everything about her was proper. Everything about her the Friday before was proper, perfect, damn nearly prim and irritating. But then, as now, there were a few things out of place. Then, her dress had been cut more daringly than current fashion, her every move was loose and lithe , she was wearing more lipstick than most Arnesian women appeared to. Now she wore no hat or gloves, her coat collar was turned up on one side, and tendrils of hair were falling from their pins. She looked lost in thought, debating something in her own head as she walked.

A few things out of place, a few things not quite in line with the rest of the world. He couldn’t help but think it made her all the more interesting, that it only served to pull him closer.

Holland watched her disappear underneath the bridge and found himself moving again. Pulled down off the bridge, back onto the sidewalk that ran above the river, following the princess as she went on her way. Holland took the first set of stairs down the riverbank. He was probably crossing a line, following a member of the royal family through the city, but Holland couldn’t help himself. A connection had formed between them, a tether that had tightened and was pulling him towards her, faster with every step.

He thanked the old gods when she stopped farther up the river, tilting her head up to look at the sky. 

“ _Mas varnesa_?” Holland called as he got closer. “Is that you?”

Holland watched, from several feet away, as her spine straightened. The sunlight caught her hair as she turned, making it glow a fiery copper. She blinked, head tilting to one side, and her lips pulled into a small smile.

“Master Vosijk,” Kell said, a fond lilt in her voice. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. “How are you?”

Holland returned the smile. A steadiness settled in his body. “I’m well. And Holland, please, _varnesa_.”

“In that case, I should be Kell to you,” she replied. A shyness filtered into her sharp features, her blue eye. “Especially after my, erm… behavior on Friday.”

“Oh,” Holland warmed at the memory. The warm press of her body to his had followed him into sleep. The scent of her perfume -- rose blossom and apricot -- had lingered on his skin well into the next morning.

“I apologize for that, by the way,” Kell said quickly. “I was deep into my cups and--.”

“There’s no need,” Holland waved her off. He stepped closer and tucked his head so only she could hear, if anyone at all could hear them. “You made the evening worth remembering, which is not something I can often say. May I accompany you to wherever you’re going?”

“If I was going anywhere, I would let you. I’m just out for some air, Holland.” Kell held her hands clasped in front of her, fingers interlaced tightly with one another. Her expression was friendly and open, her voice light and cheerful. Her shoulders told a different story -- still, rigid. 

Holland extended a hand to her, as if beckoning a spooked cat out from under a couch. Still enough distance where she could refuse him. “May I join you then?”

Kell looked down at his fingers, apprehension in the set of her eyebrows. Holland kept his own gaze even, steady, trying hard to keep the bubbling hope out of it. After a minute or two, Kell set her hand lightly on his palm and tilted her chin up to smile brightly at him. “I’d like that very much, but… perhaps a better venue?”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?” Holland moved around to tuck Kell’s arm under his.

“Not a one,” Kell said sheepishly. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead to be honest.”

“Well, I may not know this city as well as you, but I might have a place.”

“There then. Wherever that might be.”

Holland didn’t have any place in mind as they took a set of stairs back to the street above. So Holland steered them through the streets he knew, wracking his brain for a place. She probably realized he was stalling -- she grew up in this city, knew more than Holland ever could know or know to ask about -- but kept up the conversation easily. Bright, easy and light conversation, Kell seemed to defrost as they turned corners and walked down sidewalks, becoming more the woman he talked all night with. 

Holland would admit he hardly knew the woman on his arm. He remembered only fragments of that brief time, over a decade earlier, where he played messenger between two kings who were both now dead. He had spent a few years in that role, but Holland hadn’t held onto much. The years afterwards and in between had taken up more space in his consciousness than he liked. Only the red hair and one black eye told him the person existing in his memory and the person next to him were one in the same. He could only recall a prickly teenager slouched low in a chair who glared when asked to join the conversation and hardly spoke above a grumble. Scowling, agitated, disagreeable in every sense of the word, always sneaking a book under the tea table or looking for an escape into the palace library.

 _Oh_ . _Books_.

Holland blinked and a place finally came to mind. A small shop near his quarter of the city, stuffed to the brim with trinkets and books from all corners of this world and a few others (if one knew which attendant to ask). He couldn’t say whether Kell would enjoy it or not, but it was something. It was better than wandering the city until their feet hurt. He took quick stock of their surroundings and nimbly steered them in the proper direction. Within a few minutes, Holland was opening the door and guiding her inside.

Kell was, in a word, delighted. 

And, within seconds, she had vanished into the shop’s shelves.

Holland smiled politely at the shop attendant and followed. He let himself drift over the book’s spines, the changing texture bindings under his fingertips, the faded shine of their titles. He came here for the scent of the place -- the dry parchment, dust, and cracked leather perfume that settled on his coats for days after. 

He felt closer to his new home here, surrounded by maps and old magic, war and diplomacy, history and art and philosophy. He did not have to blend in here. He could drop his guard and simply learn. A homesickness still tugged at him when he thought on it too long; an old guilt creeping up through his skin and settling in his shoulders for a few hours or days. 

“How on earth did you find this place?” 

Holland almost jumped, fumbling with the book in his hand as Kell reappeared at his side.

“Did I frighten you?” Kell asked, a soft smirk pulling at her lips. 

“Not frightened. Startled maybe,” Holland said hastily, shoving the book back into it’s spot on the shelf. His hand lingered on the spines as he turned to really look at her, feeling his heart beating in his throat at that smile. Faint and honest, something that felt reserved just for him. Holland can’t remember the last time someone had a certain smile just for him. “See anything you like, Kell?”

“Don’t ask that question. I’ll always find something I like in a book shop, Holland,” Kell leans forward, as if telling a secret. “I should show you my personal library sometime, then you’ll understand why I should not be allowed to buy more.”

“I’d love to see it,” Holland replied. “It might give me reason to indulge you.”

“You really shouldn’t.” Kell cleared her throat and stepped closer. Her eyes pull up to where Holland’s hand rests. “Did you find something?” 

Holland follows her eyes and pulls his hand away from the shelf, tucking it behind his back. “Unfortunately, no. Books on Arnesian soil composition and…” He squints at the title. “Agricultural techniques. Not exactly my genre.”

“Well, I can’t imagine why. Sounds riveting.”

“I’m sure some of it is, to be honest. In Makt, things struggled to grow at all and what little did could only be left out so long before it would petrify. I wondered if it meant that magic could soak into the earth, that the land itself might have been the answer to--.” Holland stopped himself suddenly. He kicked himself and looked back to Kell, who was still smiling affectionately. “I’m sure that isn’t what you meant for me to say.”

Kell rested a hand against the lapel of his coat. “I didn’t mean for you to say anything, Holland. Only you might be able to make soil composition interesting.”

“That’s kind of you, but I won’t bore you with my magic theories, _varnesa_.” Holland rested a hand over her’s, trying his best to ignore both the heat blooming under his collar and the thud of his heart against his ribs. Her hand was pocket-warm and fit nicely in his. He stepped away, taking her with him. “I would like to show you the gem at the center of this place.”

“Lead the way, Holland.”

The way she said his voice set his heart racing faster.

Holland smiled to himself as he wove through the shelves and sections. The day had turned around completely. From errands all over the city with the expectation that he would be spending the remaining hours bored in his rented rooms until he decided he was hungry, to now showing every nook and cranny of this shop to the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about for a whole week. From wandering cold through the maze of London’s city streets by himself, to wandering the same streets with Kell Maresh on his arm.

The blue of her coat matched her one blue eye. 

Her perfume smelled of fresh roses.

Her hand fit perfectly in his.

Holland turned a corner, pulling the Arnesian princess into a small rounded alcove lined in precariously full dark-wood shelves. Once Kell had come to a stop, Holland stepped back to let her have the full view. “Here we are, Kell. The rare books section.”

Her mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘o’. She swayed on her feet, seemingly caught between staying where she was and stepping forward to dive in. She lifted a hand moving it in the air for a moment before resting it against her chest. “I knew you were dangerous, Holland.”

“You did, did you?”

“I did. Very much so now.”

“And why is that?”

“I can feel the magic on them…” Kell murmured. “In the air. Can you..?”

Holland nodded. “Yes, but I don’t suppose many others can. Go on, Kell, have a look.”

She cast a glance back at him before stepping fully into the alcove. Awed but serious, the princess lifted a hand to the aged bindings and drew her fingers reverently over them. Book by book, shelf by shelf, working her way slowly around the curved wall, Kell looked completely mesmerized. There was no attempt to hide it, and Holland was grateful. 

Holland was content to watch her methodic exploration, content to watch the interest and surprise flicker through her features. He leaned against the outside wall, arms crossed over his chest, feeling vaguely as if he was intruding upon something sacred.

“I collect things like this, you know,” Kell said quietly after many long minutes of silence. Her voice was lower, perhaps vacant, as if she was confiding something to the books and not to the other _antari_. “I always have, since I was small. Trinkets, books, things I thought were special in one way or another. It got worse when they started sending me on errands to the other Londons. Two whole new words of beautiful, interesting things? How could I be blamed for wanting to take them home?”

“Smuggling?” Holland raised an eyebrow.

Kell smiled to herself, a finger alighting on one book in particular. “Surprised?”

“Yes, actually.”

“My brother was too. He found me out when I was nineteen, gave me a sharp lecture about how it was illegal and how our parents would do worse if they ever found out, how I could bring something dangerous back through.” Kell paused, a sadness running through her eyes. “Well, he was right about that last, eventually… But I did it all, unscathed, for years. Rhy chalked it up to simple teenage rebellion, but there was more to it.”

“I have a feeling there is always more to it with you, _varnesa_ ,” Holland said gently.

Kell finally turned, hand pulling the book from its place on the shelf and catching it blindly. “There might be. I don’t see it myself until much later, if I do at all. This is one of those moments where I have a rare sort of clarity.”

“Hindsight is always clearest.”

“Isn’t it?”

Holland pushed up off the wall and stepped into the alcove. “When did you stop?”

“When I brought something dangerous through,” Kell replied simply, her expression sobering. She tucked her chin and opened the book in her palms. Holland could feel the fresh wave of energy from it -- something old, but renewed; whatever was in the pages bearing likeness to the power that wove its way through his nerves. “I may have done it myself, but others suffered for it. More than a few… died because of it.”

Holland didn’t precisely know what to say to that. It was clear she did not want to discuss it, whatever it was. He quickly changed course. “Did you keep your collection?”

Kell nodded, still turning through pages. “Most of it, anyhow. Some things I realized were not the brilliant finds I had once thought went by the wayside, some simply fell apart and couldn’t be mended, but it's still more or less intact.”

“Do you have a favorite piece?”

“A music box with a little automaton bird that flaps along. From Grey-- Oh.” Kell glanced up. “King George’s London, I should say. Back when it was King Edward’s London though. I, erm.. I call it grey London.”

Holland couldn’t help chuckling. “That’s an almost kind description. With all the fog and coal dust, you could have been quite a bit meaner.”

“I was a child, what can I say.”

“What did you call my London?”

“White London.”

“Why?”

Kell hesitated a moment. She closed the book, leaving a finger to keep her place. “Because of the ash. The first time I set foot there, I mistook it for snow.”

“I wish it had been.” The words flew from Holland’s mouth without him thinking. Like the other London being simply _grey_ , Kell calling his world _white_ felt like a kindness. Holland had seen it the same way when he was younger, even though the world had long since withered by then. He insisted that underneath grime and blood, his London, his country was still glittering underneath. 

A homesickness wormed its way up through Holland’s chest, wrapping around his ribs and settling heavy against his collarbones. He had grown up in a crumbling world with the desperate hope that he could save it if no one else could. Holland had tried for years, tried for decades, only to fall back on an innate survivalism at the very end and escaping through the wall. When it had mattered, truly mattered, Holland had left.

“Master Vosijk?” When Holland looked up, Kell was closer than she had been. The book had been returned to it’s spot on the shelf and her hands were resting lightly on his arm. “Was it something I said?”

Holland cleared his throat. “Yes but not in the way you might think. Would you forgive me if I still preferred what was left of my own world over all of yours?”

“Of course I would,” Kell said with a shrug. “If I can miss a home I won’t ever remember, you can miss yours. No one should need forgiveness for that.”

When she stepped away, Kell’s hands lifted and settled back in her coat pockets. Holland had a distinct need to reach out and take one of them back, a startling need to close the space between them and pull her to his chest. He blamed the homesickness that made him irrational.

“Here.” Kell gestured Holland forward, towards the expanse of shelves in front of them. “You said you come here often. I assume you’ve looked through most of these. Which one is your favorite?”

“Why do you ask?”

Kell smirked, casting him a side glance. “I’m trying to get to know _you_ , Holland. Would you please let me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week: Kell and her cat, and Holland looking forward to something.
> 
> Enjoy!

Kell tended to drift through her evenings. It was a habit she had developed in her adulthood, when the turmoil of Rhy’s coronation and their parents’ deaths had settled. Once the world had calmed, so could she. 

She would arrive home in the evening from errands -- delivering messages and visiting people on her brother’s behalf, tea and garden walks with friends, dressmaker’s appointments -- change for dinner, and say hello to her cat. Then dinner itself, time spent debriefing with Rhy and politely tolerating Alucard, then finally excusing herself to her bedroom and evening bath.

Her hair would come down first. All the twists and curls held up by pins she had spelled to never lose. Then her jewelry, laid lovingly on her dressing table, shoes unlaced and stockings rolled down. She would lay her dress across the back of her chair to hang in her wardrobe later, then undo her petticoats, corset, and other frilly things. All of it would be replaced by a silk robe -- her current favorite was midnight blue and hand painted with birds, a gift from her and Rhy’s counterparts in Faro. She would take her bath, redress, perhaps read, and go to bed.

Always alone though.

It had been years since Kell had brought someone home with her with the promise of staying the night. Rhy had Alucard. The two had been nearly inseparable since the captain’s return, especially in bed. Up late reading, Kell would sometimes hear them. Bumping into walls, laughing, shutting doors far too loudly than their mother would have liked. Rhy and Alucard had one another. Kell had her cat. She would always turn back to her page and her pet with a, ignoring the small sting of envy, but the sting would never quite go away. 

Kell was tired of only having her cat for company. 

Kell was tired of going to bed alone. 

She was tired of being alone at every reception, dinner, ball, opera. Tired of never holding her own in a crowded room, finding interesting people who refused her and boring people who she couldn’t seem to shake. Tired of talking through people and convincing herself they were listening when she was really talking to herself. Kell was tired of being quietly lonely.

If her afternoon with the Maktahn  _ antari  _ had proven anything, she didn’t have to be. It had been a simple walk along the river, a bookshop, and a warm cup of coffee after, but Kell had never been so elated. Holland had made it overtly clear that he enjoyed  _ her _ that afternoon. Not just her position as crown princess, her connections through her brother, her blood’s innate power. He had his own magic, had met her through her brother, and didn’t seem to care one whit about the trappings of royalty. He had liked  _ her _ .

Holland had asked to see her again when he left her at the palace steps. No uncertain terms. No guessing, no fretting, not like that morning.

_ I’d like very much to see you again, varnesa _ . 

As if it were the simplest request in the world.

And perhaps it was.

Kell shed her coat as soon as her bedroom door shut. She wandered through her bedroom, undoing her blouse as she strode through the room. Laros curled around her ankles, meowing loudly for affection, before hopping onto the foot of her bed to wait. Blouse undone and held in her hand, Kell smiled brightly at the feline, scratching lightly under his chin.

“Yes, I know, I was gone for too long today,” Kell murmured, moving her fingers up behind Laros’ ears. He purred loudly, pushing up into the palm of her hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Just my bath and then I’ll tell you all about it, I promise.”

She unlaced her boots while running a warm bath. She added rose oil to the water in between rolling her stockings down and unbuttoning her skirt. Her hair stayed up. Her corset, drawers and chemise were dropped unceremoniously to the tile floor. Her satisfied sigh echoed lightly around the room as she slid into the steaming water, careful to keep her hair dry while sinking low into the bath.

The day had been lovely. Simply lovely. 

Under the water, Kell smiled to herself as she walked through the day once more. And then again, and again. 

The way Holland had stepped close to her on the river side, so close she could smell the pine and rainwater on him. How he had held her hand in his from the moment they made it to the street. The soft smile on his face as he watched her linger over the rare books, how that same smile had persisted when he was drifting over titles himself. 

The certain far-off look on his face when he spoke of Makt, his home; a sad but lovingly hopeful look that seemed to make Holland into the young man he might have been. The man Kell might not have met had his home survived. She had felt a curl of guilt, centuries old, knowing that it hadn’t.

The chip in the cup against her lips as they sat in a corner of a coffeehouse. How Holland didn’t bat an eye as she opened her cigarette case -- a habit she’d been told many times was distinctly unladylike -- and even offered to light it for her. How Kell, feeling somehow special, had leaned forward to let him.

A fresh warmth knotted itself in Kell’s stomach. Her heart fluttered happily against her ribs. The same pleasant but unusual sensation that had washed over her the moment Holland had left her on the Soner Rast’s steps. The same feeling that had coursed through her skin late the night of Rhy’s birthday.

It was that self-same spark, shimmering in her skin. It had come back to her. Kell let her eyes closed as she let the feeling overtake her. She was happy, splendidly happy. Enough so that her brother had reason to mention her demeanor at the dinner table. It was radiant, and Kell was determined to hold on to it for as long as possible.

_ I’d like very much to see you again, varnesa _ .

A loud meow broke the daydream. Kell jumped, slipping completely under the water and coming up with her hair ruined. Pulling herself up on the side of the porcelain bathtub, she found Laros perched on a wooden stool, glancing at her imperiously as he groomed himself.

Kell glared. “Couldn’t you have been patient for a moment? Just one moment?”

Laros chirped, smoothing the fur behind his ears with a paw. 

“I’ll take that as a no then…” Kell huffed. “Ruin my peace, ruin my hair… Ten years and you have yet to show why I brought you in from under the rose bush.”

Laros made another noise, tail flickering.

Kell sighed. “Yes, fine. You  _ are _ very pretty and I am very soft-hearted, all things considered. Only for you though, so consider yourself lucky.”

Water dripped in her eyes as she spoke. One by one, Kell pulled the pins out of her hair, dropping them to the floor. No sense in keeping it up when it was already ruined. The final three pins were removed and her long red hair dropped heavy against her back and shoulders, the ends floating on the surface of the water. 

Kell ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp. Loosening up the hair and taking the weight off her neck for a moment. It had taken her years to grow it that long. She devoted quite a lot of time keeping it healthy, keeping it manageable. Kell had hated the bright copper when she was younger -- hated how it caught more attention than she ever liked, how it set her so far apart from Rhy and her parents’ darker coloring, how it had never been long enough to cover her black eye or to properly shrink into.

She twisted a curl idly around a finger, resting her chin against the edge of the tub. It was funny, she thought, how all that had been chased away once it’s length had drifted below her shoulders. Once she could pull it up into rollers and papers, twist it into neat plaits and chignons, it had suddenly felt like a part of her.

“I wonder if he likes it as much as I do,” she whispers to herself, letting the curl drop. She dropped a hand over the side, wiggling her fingers until Laros hopped from his perch to nuzzle at them. “He definitely likes me more than you do some days… and he doesn’t require quite so many treats, Laros. You might lose your place if you aren’t careful.”

The cat reached his front paws up to her face, balancing on his hind legs. Laros had been with her since he was a small kitten, found mewling and abandoned under a rose bush. When Kell had found him, more mud than black and bronze fur, the kitten was the only thing she hadn’t actively disliked. His name had come to her from nowhere, appeared in her head like a match igniting. Kell had no idea where she had heard it, where it came from, but it had fit her new companion. Laros had stuck to her side. Kell had been overjoyed.

Some days, Kell knew wholly that the animal knew more about her than anyone else ever would. He had known Kell’s secrets before anyone else. He had been her closest confidant for a decade. He was the first mark of approval for every dress she bought from Calla, every pair of shoes she ordered. Kell knew it was silly and childish to tell a pet everything, but she did anyway. 

“Oh, I tease, lovely,” Kell laughed. “I’d never turn you out. You’re too special to me.” She taps the cat’s nose twice and he settles back onto the floor. “Alright, back to your perch. I’ll be done soon, then you can help me write a letter. And I’ll tell you all about him, yes?”

Laros meowed his approval.

“Yes, I know you’ll like him.”

~*~*~*~

_ Dear Holland, _

_ I was very pleased to run into you the other day -- a complete surprise to be sure, but a wonderful one nonetheless. I hope this won’t seem presumptuous of me, but I would like to see you again. Would you grant me another afternoon of your time sometime next week? _

_ I hope this letter finds you well and that we meet again soon. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Kell Maresh _

The letter had been slipped under his door long before he had risen for the day, but Holland had read it through several times since discovering it. Grinning widely, he dressed and grabbed his coat, pulling it on as he rushed down the stairs to the street. He could write his reply later. Something else was far more pressing.

“Where on earth are you going at this hour?” his landlady asked as he passed her. “You’re never up this early.”

“Not that you see,” Holland replied politely. “I have errands.”

“Where?”

“The bookshop at the end of the street. I need a gift for a friend.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh, gods help me…” Holland felt the air leave his lungs in a rush. He felt unsteady on his feet and had to clutch the small parcel with both hands for fear of dropping it. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs completely.

Kell had given him a time to arrive at the palace, once he had agreed to another afternoon. She had said she would be on an official visit with her brother, but would meet him at the palace as soon as she could. Holland hadn’t thought much about it. He was far more concerned with his gift, his appearance, and being close to on time than whether or not the princess would be there to greet him.

And Holland was on time, in accordance with Kell’s letter. He was on time, coat buttoned and small parcel tucked under his arm. He was on time to watch her arrive back at the palace. All willowy six-foot of her on horseback, buttoned into a high-collared black coat and a slim-fitting pair of riding pants. 

Holland coughed to cover how dry his tongue was now. It earned him her eyes and a smile from across the courtyard. He couldn’t help but stare as she dismounted, staring at the last flash of long legs and boots before she landed and her coat swung down to conceal them. He took a deep steadying breath, knowing he would have to take many more.

“Holland!” Kell called, passing the reins off to a groom and walking towards him. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, _varnesa_ ,” Holland answered after clearing his throat for the second time. 

He watched, a little frozen, as she walked -- red hair falling from it’s pins, the click of her boots on paving stones, the sway of her hips under her coat. Holland knew it was impolite to stare, honest he did. But he couldn’t stop himself. She was just so…

“Beautiful,” Holland says, words bypassing his brain.

Kell blinked, taken by surprise. “Oh. You think so?”

Holland felt the blood drain from his face. “Forgive me, that was unintentional. I wasn’t thinking --.”

“No, you were and that’s why you said it,” Kell smiled easily, sweet but teasing. “I’m glad you think so, but I will be changing before we leave. I didn’t intend to be back so late.”

“Take your time, Kell,” Holland answered. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t have you waiting outside,” Kell held out a gloved hand for him to take. “ My brother would be very disappointed if I didn’t invite you inside. So, please. Come in. I won’t take long.”

“Then I won’t refuse your hospitality,” Holland said with a nod. “For your brother’s sake.”

Holland followed her through the hallways of the Soner Rast in a direction he’d never been before. He had darkened the main door of the Arnesian palace a few times since being invited into the Maresh king’s inner circle, but he hadn’t paid it much mind. It was soaring and opulent, built and reformed on the whims of its occupant, reliant upon the world’s stable store of magic. 

He remembered it being more ostentatious when he was younger, still a messenger to the late Maxim Maresh. The shining gold dulled and minimized; sumptuous red and jewels pared back save for a few select spaces. Now it was soaring arches, twisting staircases, flourishing gardens, and large colored windows. The vision of Rhy Maresh, not his father.

Holland still didn’t pay it any mind now; he was too focused on the woman a few steps ahead of him. The way she walked through the hallways, using the fullness of her stride to move at a fair clip. The absent-minded way she unpinned her hair, letting long auburn waves fall over the black her coat. How she asked him about his day, how he had been since the week before, It wasn’t until they reached a smaller, more secluded hallway that Holland realized where they were walking.

Kell was leading them to her bedroom.

Holland swallowed and set his face. 

Kell paused at her door, hand resting on a curved handle. “How are you with cats?”

“Cats?”

“Yes, like house cats,” Kell explained. “I have one. His name is Laros. I normally don’t… have visitors, so warning you slipped my mind. He probably won’t even come out, but--.”

“It’ll be fine,” Holland said. “I hope he’ll be alright with my being here.”

Kell sighed and pushed the door open. “We can only hope, Holland. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Holland stepped in after her, letting the door close behind him. He stood in the threshold as Kell strode forward, walking towards what he assumed was a closet. She shed her coat, dropping it onto a large bed, leaving her in those riding pants, boots, and a slim-fitting waistcoat over a crisp blouse. As she walked, the coppery shape of a feline came tumbling out from under a sofa to weave and hop between her boots. Kell never broke stride, but still cooed at the creature until she disappeared behind a pale green door.

The room was spacious and light. Smooth, pale floors running from end to end, covered with Arnesian style rugs in muted colors. The walls were a clean shade of deep blue, trimmed in white and thin ribbons of gold. Her bed stood against one wall, a vanity graced another. The center held two sofas and a small table. The far wall held tall, arched windows before which stood a large tree, dripping with pink blossoms. As Holland ran his hand over the bark, he could feel magic radiating from the trunk. It was all Kell’s handiwork, enchanted to be content there.

It was undeniably different from the rest of the palace -- airy and open where the rest was ornate and meandering. Holland would have expected something stuffy, perhaps academic. Filled with dark wood and heavy books, like the bookstore a week earlier. And there were books, plenty of them, but neatly lined up on clean, cream-colored shelves built into the wall itself.

Unexpected, but perfectly matched in it’s own way.

“There. I hope you weren’t too bored out here by yourself.”

“Not at all, just explor-...” Holland felt his voice cut off involuntarily, stopped in his throat. Kell had reappeared, standing just beyond the closet door. Laros the cat was lounging at her feet, inspecting Holland imperiously.

Her hair was redone, her mass of red hair twisted and pinned into a fashionable updo. Her dress was grey, the seams stitched over with black and pearlescent ribbon. A pendant of solid black stone encased in a silver web hung from her neck, a hat was held in her fingers.

“Exploring, eh?” Kell prompted. A pale blush rises to her cheeks, her chin tucking shyly. 

Holland cleared his throat. “Yes, in a way.”

“Bookshelves or my garden?” Kell pointed to shelves, then the blossoming tree.

“Both,” Holland said, reaching up to touch one of the blossoms. “How did you manage this?”

“I didn’t. It’s strong magic but it isn’t mine. One of my guards is very gifted with plants,” Kell wandered over to where Holland stood. “He did this for me as a birthday gift. It’s an almond tree, charmed to bloom year-round.”

“Impressive…”

“I only have impressive friends, Holland, and that includes you,” Kell shrugged, then rested a hand on his shoulder. “Now, let’s go before I waste our afternoon telling you about my library.”

As he took her hand and let her guide him back into the palace hallway, Holland couldn’t help but hope that she would. One day, perhaps when she might call him more than a friend. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Holland couldn’t help staring at Kell from across the table. Dainty porcelain cups, pastries, and a small vase of flowers set between them. Soft conversation rolled through the air around them. 

_One… two… there._

_You have a sweet tooth, varnesa?_

_Indeed. I don’t indulge it often, only when the treats are really worthwhile._

_I’ll take your word for it. I’m not one for sweets myself. You have enough for the both of us._

The tearoom was small but grand, tucked into the side of a hotel lobby. For this London, it was probably very fashionable. Kell had recommended the place after their walk through the conservatory. She said it was one of her favorite places to sit and read when she found herself in the city. He couldn’t help but think she looked very much at home sitting there, while Holland couldn’t help but feel glaringly out of place in his plain grey suit suit.

He watched as she talked through her days delivering messages to this London, the royals she knew and avoided, stumbling upon many little gems along the way. He watched as she added sugar to her tea, picked particular sweets and pointed out to him which ones were best. He watched as she smiled at him, sunlight glinting off her copper hair, pale lashes fanned over her mismatched eyes, a pink blush sitting in her cheeks.

_You know, I wouldn’t have taken you for someone who likes gardens. I must admit, I was testing you a bit._

_Oh were you?_

_Yes, sorry to say. If you didn’t like plants, that might be unforgivable._

_Is it because you would prefer your home to be an overfilled greenhouse, Kell?_

_Did the tree growing out of my bedroom floor not tell you as much?_

He felt the moment her eyes found his, over and over. The smooth black of his left eye meeting the smooth black of her right. He felt the moment he leaned forward in his chair and forgot the teacup in front of him. He felt the moment his fingers twitched under the table towards her’s, felt his mind hold himself back and his body push forward to lay his arm across the table. He felt his heart jump when she set her fingers in his palm, one of her fingers tracing idle circles there as she spoke.

A warmth washed through his skin, settled heavy in his stomach. A fluttering feeling bloomed in his chest, leaving him unable to find words. He hung on her every word, strung on alone by the sound of her voice — soft, smooth, and low.

_Do you like this London, varnesa?_

_Some days, I do._

_Would you mind very much if I asked why? Besides you, there doesn’t seem to be much about it._

_Flattery will only get you so far, Master Vosijk… But, you’re not wrong. Compared to what we know, it’s rather dull here. The aristocracy is as stale as aristocracies ever are, they have their own sets of moral problems, not to mention the state of their river and air…_

_So why are we here?_

_Look around you. Every tile, every archway, every windowpane, vase, and nail was made with hands and hands alone. The Crystal Palace, where we were today, was made entirely by human hands. No magic. Because there is no magic and they never knew much of it, they rely entirely on their own imaginations. They cannot simply conjure something and discard it. Invention takes years, success takes decades. Cathedrals and castles and museums take centuries..._

_Yes?_

_I don’t know… There’s something beautiful about that. The effort made eternal. You don’t have to agree with me, but peel back the veneer of Westminster and that’s what I see._

_I hadn’t quite thought of it that way. I suppose there is something… fascinating in that._

_You don’t agree, do you?_

_No, but I did enjoy hearing you tell me._

Every nerve in his body pushed Holland to lean forward and kiss her. To hold her close enough to feel her chest as she breathed, to smell Red London in her hair, and kiss her. Kiss her until they were both breathless, just as he had wanted to every time he had seen her. Wandering the river wharfs, sitting across from him in a coffee shop, running her finger over the spines of clothbound books, dressed to the nines in a black ball gown. Holland wanted her, more than he could remember wanting anything in the world. He wanted to hold her, to touch her, to watch her minding her own. He wanted to pull her close, but he wanted to keep listening to her. 

_May I ask you something decidedly personal?_

_I don’t see why not._

_When was the last time you invited someone to your bedroom?_

_Oh._

_What?_

_I wasn’t… I was expecting you to ask about my --. Never mind. It’s been a long time, Holland._

_Has Laros scared them all off?_

_No, despite his best efforts. No, that’s entirely my doing. It’s been years since I had someone close enough to me to know I wouldn’t mind them in my rooms. It’s the one place in the palace that’s always been mine and I don’t sacrifice that quiet to another person lightly._

_How many years?_

_Oh, at least ten… Maybe twelve._

_That’s quite a long time._

_It is, but don’t go feeling sorry for me. I live a very charmed life, all things considered, and can afford to be alone in this world. It’s not always happy, but it is my choice. At the very least, I have that._

Holland wouldn’t dare interrupt her, so he stuffed the need down. He kept it down with sips of tea and the light brush of fingers. He kept it tamed with the sound of her voice, the curve of her sunshine over her cheekbones and nose when she turned to glance at the other patrons. At thirty-seven, Holland Vosijk was very good at waiting for what he wanted, who he wanted. And who he wanted, who he would wait for, was Kell Maresh.

“You're still here with me, Holland?” Kell teased. “Or am I intruding on a daydream?”

Holland shook his head. “Not at all. Listening to you.”

“As if I’m so interesting,” Kell scoffed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. 

“Oh, but you are. I think you overestimate how many people I interact with day to day who I actually enjoy.” Holland gathers one of her hands in both of his. “I have something for you.”

“For me?” The flirtatious charm dropped from her voice, leaving only true surprise. When Holland turned and reached for his coat pocket, the pink blush returned and she bit a fingernail. “You shouldn’t have. Really, you--.”

“I didn’t buy it with today in mind, but I had hoped it would provide an opening for me to give it to you. And it has.” Holland held up the brown paper package before reaching across the table to place it in front of her. “Go on. I know you’re curious.”

Kell eyed him then the package for a few long minutes. There was a flicker in her blue eyes that said she was itching to tear open the paper, but something held her back. Holland offered only an encouraging smile, then sat back to finish the rest of his tea and wait. 

And, eventually, watch.

He held down a wide smile as Kell dropped her resistance, taking one of her knives and sliding it through the seams of the wrapping. Taking each corner to unfold one at a time until the small parcel’s contents lay exposed on the white table cloth. A fond smile pulled at her features as she stared down at first the book, then the small vial. She ran soft fingertips over both, then leaned a cheek onto one fist.

“For me?” She sounded hopeful.

Holland nodded. “Who else would they be for, _varnesa_?”

“You have to stop calling me that, Holland.” Kell had voiced the sentiment a few times that day, but each time she did not sound like she meant it. An old part of herself resurfacing for a moment, then sinking beneath again. “Why did you go back for the book?”

“Because you seemed to like it so much,” Holland began. “And I figured if anyone could appreciate roughly two hundred pages about theories of air and light magic, it would be you.”

Kell hummed happily, tracing a finger over the embossed title on the leather front. “You might be right about that…. And the perfume?”

“Something that reminded me of you. It isn’t extravagant, but I hope you like it.” 

She uncorked the vial, waving it under her nose. She looked up in excitement. “I think I will. It’s quite different for me, but I’m intrigued. This is just lovely. Thank you, Holl.”

Holland let himself grin. “Is that what I am to you? _Holl_?”

Kell’s blush deepened. “If you’d like to be. If you don’t like it, I understand.”

“No, no. I quite like it when you say it.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When they finally returned to the Soner Rast, after prolonging the afternoon as long as possible, Holland couldn’t let her go. Not just yet anyway. Standing on the same threshold as earlier, he was struck with the realization that, once he turned away, he would be alone for the rest of the night. He would be alone until he saw her again. 

So when Kell smiled, held his hands in hers, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, Holland side-stepped politeness. He gathered her up in his arms and kissed her, just as he had wanted to all afternoon. A slow, all-consuming press of lips and hands; the smell of her perfume on her skin; the shift of weight in his arms as Kell slid her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.

He caught her easily, holding her to his chest. 

When she finally broke the kiss, breathing hard and pink cheeked, Holland held himself from pulling her back down. 

A crooked, dazed sort of smile crossed her features. “Well… is that what you think of me?”

Holland laughed and set her back on the steps. “And then some.”

“I’ve wanted to do that since we met,” Kell said, breathless. Her arms were still around his neck, his hands still resting at the curve of her waist. “This makes it incredibly hard to go inside now.”

“At least you have Laros and your brother,” Holland answered. “When can I see you again?”

“Oh are you not finished with me?”

“I don’t think I ever will be.”

Kell laughed, bright and clear. She slid a hand along his face, her fingernails dragging along the curve of his jaw. She leaned in to kiss one cheek, then the other. “Tomorrow then. Can you-?”

“Yes, of course.” Holland took her hand, kissing the back. “I suppose I should take my leave then… Tomorrow, _varnesa_.”

“Tomorrow, Holl.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!   
> I suppose I should change my posting schedule to every other Monday. Between work and a million other things, writing chapter updates has fallen down the list of priorities. Hopefully things will improve and, with a few days off in the future, I'll be able to get back on schedule.  
> This chapter wasn't on my original outline, but once I got the idea in my head, it all but wrote itself. I hope you enjoy!

“Oh-! Holland,  _ sanct _ , I- ah!” Kell whined, squirming in Holland’s lap. 

Holland grinned into the high collar of her blouse. He kissed the pulse point thrumming away in her neck and twisted his wrist just so, earning himself high another pitched gasp.

“ _ Sanct _ !”

She had straddled his hips long ago, smiling proudly and sure of herself. A thin blush high in her cheeks from spiced wine, cup after cup of it drunk out in the cold open air of the Night Market. A small flame had lit itself in the pit of Holland’s stomach as they kissed, warming him through all by itself. In short order, Holland had reduced that redheaded confidence to shivering, panting, swearing, clutching.

It took every ounce of self control still left in Holland’s limbs to keep him from following her. He wanted to, badly, but part of him needed to watch her; needed to see the moment where she shook and shattered apart in his arms. 

He wanted to remember the moment Kell Maresh collapsed over the edge by his hand.

He had wanted to touch her, just like this, for so long.

They had been seeing one another for months now, their meetings reserved to daylight hours and crowded venues. Kell had taken a personal interest in showing Holland her favorite parts of this London, and had insisted on seeing his discoveries as well. She had shown him a perpetual flower garden, side-street curiosity shops, the magical libraries held within the Sanctuary’s walls. Holland had taken her to the few taverns he frequented, the coffeeshop he had spent his free hours in, kissed her surrounded by the Sanctuary’s shelves, but found himself more often following her. 

Down side-streets and alleys, in book shops and tea shops and apothecaries, through magic doors hidden to all but them. Through the perfumed fog of rose gardens and the curling smoke of her spiced cigarettes. Holland fell into step at her side, holding her hand in his and hanging on her every word.

This night had begun the same way. 

The same pattern, the same dance, the same smiles and steps. Holland had been grateful he had given into the impulse to kiss her and he was happy with that much.

Hours earlier, despite his age and experience, Holland Vosijk could not have conceived of this. Sitting in Kell Maresh’s bedroom, the crown princess herself astride his lap, one hand resting at her hip, the other busy under her skirts. 

~*~*~

_ Several Hours earlier _

“You have a trick in your eye,  _ varnesa _ .” Holland said as soon as she appeared on the palace stairs. The golden dome of the Soner Rast glinted bronze and fuschia in the setting winter sun. The same sun flickered off the copper of Kell’s hair, the silver of her earrings. 

The heels of her boots clicked on the marble treads as she descended, quicker than usual. Her smile was wider than usual; for a moment, Holland might have forgotten what a serious, reserved woman she naturally was. She was wrapped in a midnight blue coat threaded through with silver, another nameless creation of the coat she loved so dearly. She had confessed it’s capabilities one afternoon, after Holland had nearly walked her into the store where she had won it, admitting quietly that she had cheated for it.

“Good evening, Master Vosijk,” Kell exhaled, quietly reaching for his hand. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, but I’m patient.” Holland kissed her knuckles, bending forward in as much of a bow as she would allow. He had picked up bits and pieces of her discomfort with her position and titles throughout the weeks, had noted how much she preferred being called ‘Kell’ to ‘ _varnesa_ ’. He still liked calling her ‘ _varnesa_ ’, liked how she seemed to preen when only he did. He straightened, her hand still in his. “I don’t mind waiting on surprises.”

“There’s no trick. I’m just pleased with myself,” Kell began, steering him towards the door. “Have you been to the Night Market?”

Holland shook his head. “I’ve walked through it and can hear it from my rooms, but no. I’ve not explored it myself.”

“Good! Because that’s what I’d like to do tonight.” 

Kell seemed to brighten as soon as they crossed the threshold into the wider world. Once out from under the shadow of the palace and royal obligation, once out of sight of her brother and guards, the woman unfolded completely. Everything about her stood out, from her height and bright hair to the distinctive black eye, but she was most at home in a crowd. A cluster to hide in, to blend into, to disappear and abandon the responsibilities she held so tightly to.

As they crossed one of many stone bridges from one bank of the River Isle to the next, Holland watched the crown princess melt away. Kell Maresh readily took her place -- the woman she was at the core, perhaps who she might have been were she not the king’s sister. Gone was the king’s primary protector, the serious shadow in the midst of court audiences. In her place was someone lively, animated, with a keen eye and a quick sense of humor. Someone who knew the streets of this city as she knew the lines of her own palm; who looked at him and found something worth wanting.

That’s what Holland found so baffling. Kell Maresh had seen something in him worth holding to, worth wanting.

He had spent a decade or more of looking at himself and seeing nothing but an empty shell. Examining the cracks of his hands, the lines next to his eyes, the set of his shoulders, Holland often found nothing redeemable. The demise of his family had hollowed him. A youth misspent flirting with and narrowly escaping death had hollowed him further. Years under the spelled control of another, he was sure, had left nothing left.

His infatuation with Kell had been a surprise. He had felt warmth in his chest, real and organic. He had felt something twist and tighten inside him whenever he saw her. Sensations that had been dead in his skin so long, so foreign and unfamiliar they were nerve-rattling. Holland insisted life had dealt him a bad hand and he had done his best, but it had left him empty. To know he was still capable of feeling affection, of flirting and wanting, of that self-same warmth. That in and of itself was a revelation after a life understanding emotional surrender as putting one’s self in ultimate danger.

To learn it was reciprocated whole-heartedly was another thing entirely.

Kell had returned every advance with a blithe smile. She arrived at each meeting with the same cheer, the same interest, as the one before. Holland had not changed, and yet she still asked to see him. 

It was baffling, and Holland had yet to learn not to question it.

“Why tonight?” Holland asked quietly. “Is it special or did you have a whim?”

“A little of both, as it would happen. Tonight is the start of a festival for the end of winter, and we’re coming off a full moon,” Kell answered, tilting her head back to look up at the rapidly darkening sky. “Neither of those things are important. I only wanted you to see it for the first time when it would be it’s most exciting. Lots of people, lots of performers, lots of food…”

She drifted for a moment, lost in thought. Holland let her for a minute before prodding her lightly in the ribs. She blinked at him, mildly startled. “Since when do you daydream about food?”

“Oh, I wasn’t--,” Kell started, then stopped herself. She flashed a shy grin in his direction. “I was thinking about something else, but the food is quite good. There’s a lot to pick from, in all honesty.”

“I assume you’ve picked favorites?”

“Absolutely. I sometimes wander through after making my letter rounds. Rhy likes to think of himself as a man of the people, which he more or less succeeds at. But we never have dinners with dishes like this, never have.”

“If you asked, wouldn’t they--?”

“Oh no, they would, but that’s the problem, you see?” Kell turned them onto a large boulevard lined with vendors and paused. “If I had it made for me always, it wouldn’t be special. It wouldn’t be my delicious little secret anymore.”

Holland nodded, only just taking in the colors and sounds. “It wouldn’t be your own anymore.”

Kell’s lips parted a fraction of an inch. It took a few moments before they closed again, the pink tip of her tongue appearing to swipe across her lower lip as she nodded. “That’s it. Exactly.”

“I understand the feeling.”

“You do?”

“I do,  _ varnesa _ .” Holland could only offer a secure arm around her waist and a quick kiss on the cheek. “Some things are best kept as they are, unchanged.”

“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”

“Among other things… But I believe you promised excitement, and I can see it just there.” He pointed at the crowded street, the vendors, stalls, and tents. He held her to his side. “Shall we go join it?”

* * *

The wine was going to her head. 

Again.

Kell chided herself for not being more measured in her drinking. She was nearly thirty -- she had learned her limits and had been very good at sticking to them until recently. Within the confines of the palace and under the watchful eye of gossipy aristocrats, Kell kept herself in check and upright. In the middle of a crowd, being jostled into Holland at every turn, Kell felt more at liberty to imbibe. Her appearing pink-cheeked and tipsy wouldn’t raise eyebrows with Londoners the way it would among the  _ ostra  _ and  _ vestra _ . Holland didn’t seem to mind, likely because he too had drunk his fair share of wine. 

The two of them were tangled up in one another as they wandered through the chaos of the Market -- a raucous collection that Kell had been fond of since she was a teenager. Holland’s arm was sturdy around her waist, keeping her upright while she pointed out favorite vendors and tossed coins for wine, sweets, and other delicious things. 

“This is lavish, even for you,” Holland teased, low and soft in her ear. 

Kell laughed and reached for a clay bowl held out to her. “I’m having fun, Holland, and I want you to have fun too!”

“Is it a crime to have fun when you’re royal?”

“Depends on who you ask. Now here, open up. Taste this.” Kell holds the bowl out to him. She picked up one of the thinly wrapped dumplings and dipped it in a bright green sauce before lifting it to his mouth. “C’mon, it won’t bite you."

“It might,” Holland shrugged, taking it from her fingers. “Arnesians use more spices than Makt had ever heard of. Finding a tea that isn’t spiced within an inch of its life is a chore all its own.”

“Yes, yes, we overdo it and you like plain things, now  _ eat _ , Holl.” 

Kell rolled her eyes, then bit down on her own dumpling and hummed in delight. Bright herbs and lemon hit her tongue first, then the meaty ginger and onions of the filling. Kell tried to keep herself from stuffing the rest of it into her mouth -- something decidedly unladylike -- but couldn’t help herself. She bounced happily on her toes as she chewed. When she saw Holland watching her, humor in his green eyes, she flushed scarlet. 

“I take it you like these?”

Kell nodded, swallowing her mouthful. “I could eat my weight in these. I almost did many times as a teenager, Rhy too.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you,  _ varnesa _ , but eating  _ your _ weight in something might not amount to much,” Holland teased with a smirk. “Should I let you have the rest or can I have another?”

“You like them?” Kell blinked in surprise.

“I like them the most out of anything so far.”

“Even over the honey pastries?”

“By a very thin margin, but yes,” Holland grinned. He plucked another dumpling, swirling it in the green sauce just as she had. “I was expecting it to be spicier than it was. My landlady uses chilies in just about everything, so I’ve learned to be suspicious of most sauces.”

“Then what do you eat?” Kell stared in disbelief. Arnesian food was nothing without its sauces and heat.

“I cook for myself most days. I’m not half bad, by my London’s standards,” Holland answered simply. “It’s easier to avoid chilies if I don’t buy them.”

Kell hummed, picking herself another dumpling. She had half a mind to order more. “Noted… I might make you cook for me someday.”

“Don’t set your expectations too high,  _ varnesa _ . My talent is limited and confined to what my mother was able to show us before she died.”

“You and your brother?”

“Yes, exactly. Even if we could have afforded more interesting things, Makt didn’t have them. Everything she made, what I still make, you might find horribly plain by comparison.” Holland paused, nodding at the last dumpling in the bowl. “Go on, take it.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I think you could, but you’re petrified of being rude.”

“But--.”

“You’re mother isn’t here to tell you off, love.” Holland leaned close to her ear, a smile already pulling at his lips. “What if I fed it to you?”

Kell giggled, the faint sound of nervousness under the cheerful tone. “Sounds scandalous, Holl.”

“Is that a yes? Would you like that, Kell?”

“I, um…” 

She swore Holland could hear how tightly she swallowed. That he was so close he could feel her shoulders shift and roll as she kept herself in control. It was a simple yes or no, and the wine was making it very hard. Anyone could see, anyone in the whole of London. Kell was rapidly finding she didn’t care, as much as her upbringing would like her too.

“Yes or no,  _ varnesa _ ?” Holland breathed, sending tingles down the column of her spine.

“Yes.” She flushed redder than before at the embarrassing tremor in her voice. “Yes… and then I’d like you to take me home.”

Holland leaned away, intrigue glimmering in his darkening green eye. “And then what?”

Kell regained an inch of her confidence, fixing him with a level gaze. “I’m not quite sure, but I’m sure between the two of us we can decide on something worthwhile.”

“I’m sure we can…” Holland let out a slow breath, reaching for the last dumpling. “In that case… open up, Kell.”

~*~*~*~

Kell was burning up in her long-sleeved blouse and wool skirt, but she couldn’t make herself sit up long enough to cool her skin. Only just as long as it took her to find the Maktahn  _ antari _ ’s eyes and drop forward to kiss him deeply. 

Her current condition was her fault anyhow. She had dragged Holland back to her bedroom and pushed him down on her sofa. Had straddled his hips, grinning mischievously, and tilted his chin up with one finger. Had teased him before kissing him the way he would kiss her -- gripping, all-consuming, something she could feel radiating through her skin. Had melted under his hands, his lips, and begged him to touch her.

He had stared up at her, flustered, features glazed over with lust. “You want… Tell me how, Kell.”

“How?” Kell had gasped. She hadn’t gotten that far. She knew she needed his hands everywhere. She thought as quickly as possible. “Oh, um… Like, um. Like this.” She shifted, pulling her skirt and petticoats up to reveal her stockings and thighs. With a shaking, steading breath, she took his hand and guided it between her legs. She guided his hand through the first few strokes, then had to pull her own away to catch herself as she crumpled forward onto Holland’s chest. “ _ Oh… _ Oh,  _ yes _ . Just like that.”

“Just this?” Holland said, just as breathless as she was. “Nothing more?”

“Yes,” Kell nodded. “Then you.”

“Don’t promise things you can’t keep,” Holland groaned. He slid down against the couch cushions, a dazed expression forming on his face. His hand kept moving, his wrist rolling every so often and just the right way to send Kell moaning into his shoulder. 

“Who said--,” Kell’s hips pressed forward as she let out another moan. “Who said I wouldn’t, wouldn’t keep it?”

“It’s late-.”

“I’m persuasive.” Her legs quivered as she slumped over him. Her hands ran over every part of him, looking for something to cling to. All she could find was his hair, trailing her nails up the back of his neck before her fingers twisted in the smooth, black strands.

“ _ Ah _ !”

Kell jerked away as if she had been burned. Holland was faster, snatching her hands and putting them back where they had been.

“More,” he gasped. “ _ Please _ .”

“ _ Oh _ …” Kell murmured. Her eyes fluttered closed as Holland’s hand found its way back to her. Her fingers twisted and pulled Holland’s hair, tilting his head back down against the back of the couch. Her hips jerked forward. Holland’s began to move too, noises Kell had never heard before being pulled from his throat.

Her lips found his again. All at once, a certain warmth flooded her skin and bones, swirling down her spine and settling heavy in her hips. She leaned against Holland’s chest, panting hard into his shirt collar, now damp with sweat. She felt his hands leave her for a moment, then come to settle on her waist, pulling her closer. He was breathing hard himself, body flushed with heat and struggling to remain still.

“Now you,” Kell whispered, out of breath and loose-limbed. “Please, let me--.”

“Yes. Gods, yes…” Holland pulls her back up for another kiss. “You’re… you’re…”

“I’m what?”

He nipped at her jaw, then sucked at her earlobe. “I don’t know. Beautiful seems too simple a word…”

“You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I haven’t had enough vocabulary lessons…” Holland pressed his forehead to hers, his dark lashes catching on her pale ones. “Alright then. Have your way with me, princess. I’ll think of the right word sometime.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and conversation with Rhy, Alucard, Kell, and Holland, part 1 of 2.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

“Alucard?”

“Hmm?”

Rhy set down his coffee, watching as Kell turned out of the room and disappeared into the hall. “Do you think she’s acting strange?”

“Who? Kell?” Alucard leaned forward onto a fist. His blue eyes bounced from Kell’s empty place at the table to the doorway. She had excused herself for an errand -- something about the Sanctuary, Alucard really hadn’t been listening. “Not especially. Why?”

“No, she is,” Rhy said, more to himself than Alucard. He tapped one finger on the tabletop and chewed his lower lip. “She’s… different. Less serious, I don’t know. Do you think the weather’s gone to her head?”

Alucard looked at his husband, noting the serious set of his features, and laughed. 

“I’m being serious, Luc! This is my sister!”

“I know you’re being serious, Rhy, but Kell’s perfectly fine,” Alucard answered, humor still in his voice. Rhy squinted at him. “Don’t look at me that way. You’re reminding me of your father.”

Rhy’s face immediately dropped and he reached for his cup again. His gaze settled somewhere in the center of the table. “I’m not trying to, I swear.”

“I know you aren’t, but you are,” Alucard answered, reaching across the table. He took Rhy’s hand in his. “Alright, you want to know what’s wrong with your sister? Holland Vosijk is what’s wrong. She’s in love and has been for months. How have you not noticed?”

“She’s quite a bit better at hiding it than she used to be…” Rhy shrugged.

“No, she isn’t. She might actually be worse.”

“She can’t be,” Rhy murmured, leaning back in his chair. He ran a hand through his curls, eyebrows knitting together, lost in thought. “Kell’s never…” He goes quiet for a few more second, then lets out a harsh breath. He looked up at Alucard, disbelief in his expression. “Are you  _ sure _ , Luc?”

“Very. I wouldn’t have entertained the idea, let alone told you, if I didn’t believe it myself.”

Rhy nodded to himself. “That’s good news. I know it is, but… Should I worry?”

“I think telling you not to would be futile, but no. You shouldn’t,” Alucard smiled gently. “She’s more than capable of handling herself--.”

“I know that--.”

“And Holland is in much the same condition.”

“Oh?” Rhy stared at him. Alucard could almost see the thoughts running through the king’s head; the flicker of many things behind those gold eyes. The intrigue and interest of a regular court gossip. The vague concern of a sibling. The quieter part of Rhy that wished he had been able to see all this for himself. Alucard held his tongue, waiting to see what side Rhy chose. He almost laughed again as he watched him settle on gossip. “Is he?”

Alucard nodded. “The look on his face says it all. I’ve only seen it a few times. Never when he knew I was there, but I’ve never seen someone look at Kell that way.”

“Spying around corners, Alucard?”

“More like turning the corner into the wrong stretch of hallway.”

Rhy hummed to himself, rubbing the pad of a finger over the engraved handle of his spoon. He stared out at the doorway, lost in thought. “I would like to see it… Just to be sure.”

“Do you not believe me, Rhy?”

“I do,” Rhy said, voice still caught between his normal tone and a wistful, daydreaming one. “I believe you, dear. I… I simply want to see my sister’s happiness reflected back at her.”

Alucard blinked once, then a second and third time. “That was… poetic.”

“Don’t sound surprised. I wrote you plenty of poetry when we were younger. None of it reciprocated.”

“Because yours was bad, but mine would have been far worse.” Alucard sighed, a fresh smile pulling at his lips. “So, how do you plan on seeing this?”

Rhy shrugged and sat up straighter. “I was thinking of inviting him to dinner.”

“Nothing extravagant?”

“Kell might kill me herself if I did,” Rhy exhaled, smiling into another sip of coffee. “Only Kell could hate anything fussy, but still arrive in her best gown.”

Alucard nodded, knowing. “And if Master Vosijk is at all involved, she might even commission a new one from Calla for the occasion.”

“You sound hopeful.”

“When will you believe that I actually like Kell and would want to see her happy?”

“Never. It’s just too strange.” Rhy replied, trying in vain to stuff down a grin. He sat for a few moments more, then set down his coffee cup and stood. “I’m off. I have a dinner to plan.”

“And an audience with the fabric guild at noon.”

“And that.”

~*~*~

Kell smoothed the skirt of her dress and swallowed a mouthful of wine. She kept her shoulders straight, her features neutral but pleasant, listening as closely to the conversation as she cared to. She was humoring her brother’s idea of this evening, his intimate little dinner. Just the four of them -- Rhy and Alucard next to one another on one side, Kell on the other with Holland to her right -- seated as they and their parents once had but with far less conversation. 

If she tried hard enough, Kell could see those stale evenings. Those sumptuous dinners eaten off delicate porcelain under candlelight, before Kell had come into her own and the few years after. Their parents' heads leaned in to one another, discussing everything from new agricultural innovations to what flowers to place in the entry hall when the Veskans arrived for a visit. They spoke with Rhy more than Kell, a dull pain Kell had become immune to in childhood. She had come to understand early on that she had been taken in for her magic and that alone. Maxim and Emira had found her more interesting as she got older, something their deaths had cut short.

Kell could see those evenings, hanging in the air around them. Yes, this evening was about Rhy poking into her and Holland’s business, but more floated around the four of them. Nostalgia and memory, the undercurrent of a decade of Rhy’s mourning. Some small part of Rhy, whether he understood it or not, was trying to shape a family. Holland had conveniently come to fill the final spot.

Wine was poured liberally. Conversation carried on softly and friendly. 

Kell leaned onto the table, her body angled towards Holland’s. She listened quietly to Alucard’s and Rhy’s questions, to Holland’s patient, amicable answers. The pale skin of her face slowly flushed as mouthful after mouthful of wine warmed her blood and loosened her thoughts. 

As Alucard talked of his time at sea, Kell crossed and uncrossed her legs under the table, her skirts ruffling softly. As Rhy indulged in a bit of aristocrat’s gossip, one of Holland’s hands came to rest on her knee. As Holland questioned the other men on the finer points of Arnesian cuisine, Kell swiped her thumb across a stray bit of sauce on her plate then licked it clean. She felt Holland’s hand tighten and reached for her wine glass to cover her smile.

Her heart thudded pleasantly against her rib bones.

The wine sang in her blood.

One of her hands found Holland’s, discreetly guiding it higher on her thigh.

Alucard’s eyes flickered to her face and she cast him a pleased glance. She imagined what the threads of her power looked like at that moment, swirling in the air, twining with the air with the bare ends of Holland’s.

The Maktahn antari chose that moment to squeeze her leg, massaging the flesh under his thumb.

He had done that before, plenty of times. Every time, Kell found her insides melting to warm goo. She smiled, leaning onto her hand. She listened, watched, and slowly melted under his hands. Like she had nearly every night for two months. 

There was a mark on the wall of her closet -- a small petaled shape of Holland’s blood that formed the tether between his rooms and her’s. He would visit her after dinner, sitting by her side as she practiced new spells, laying on her bed and reading to her, his thunder-deep voice humming through her skin and bones. He would kiss her dizzy before vanishing back through the wall, leaving her bubbling and wanting in his wake. Perfectly scandalous should anyone in court find out and deem it good enough to spread through London, but Kell couldn't care less. She had once spent energy chasing after partners, watching their love drain through her fingers like so much sand. She couldn't remember the last time the person she was running after turned and held out a hand to her, wanting her as much as she them.

A honey warm feeling radiated out from her chest as she thought of that night. What she would like to do to him, how she wanted so badly for him to touch her. His hand heavy and rough on her skin. His dark hair running through her fingers until the moment she decided to pull. His hot breath on her neck as he kissed all the sensitive parts of her. The drag of her leg up the side of his to drape, barely secure, at his hip. 

Nothing about her surprised him. 

Sometimes Kell would attempt to catch him off-guard, but nothing ever did. She had appeared to him wrapped in a robe, fresh from a bath, her hair loose and damp; in one of her old shirtwaists and waistcoats, her waist cinched as far as she dared go, a cigarette hanging from her lips as she read. Holland was unflappable, striding across the carpet to drop a kiss on her lips and tell her she looked beautiful that day.

Nothing about her surprised him.

He greeted every part of her just as it was, without question or second glance.

He had told her that years under someone else’s control had left him unwilling to second guess a decision, without the ability to overthink. Something was what it was what it was to him. He had told her an abbreviated version of that story. Kell often wondered about the missing details, but never pressed. Holland would tell her someday or not at all. It didn’t matter in the end. She loved the way he filled the holes she had forgotten were in her. 

She thought him perfect, and he thought the same of her.

He told her through his soft touches, a private smile meant only for her eyes, the little gifts wrapped in brown paper that he would set in her lap every few weeks or so.

“Kell?” Holland’s voice sounded in her ear. She turned her head to look him in the eyes, the shining magic in their black eyes clicking against one another when she did. It sent a thrill down her spine. Holland’s grip on her leg tightened and she knew he had felt the same.

“Yes?”

“Your brother wondered if we would mind moving to another room,” Holland said. “He’s gotten it in his head that I won’t be able to beat him at a certain game.”

“Oh?” Kell replied, arching an eyebrow as she looked to Rhy. “That seems like a dangerous venture… but I would like to watch. Alucard, a round of Sanct for us?”

The ex-sea captain smirked, lounging in his chair. “Will you share your cigarettes?”

“Only if you share your lighter.”

“Then I’ll go find a deck.”

It was a short walk, only a few footsteps from one door to the next. Even still, Holland fell into step with Kell, a hand secure on her waist. When Rhy and Alucard had slipped inside the next door, he pulled her in close for a kiss.

“Your taunting did not go unnoticed,  _ varnesa _ ,” he whispered into her red hair. “The things I would do to you… you have no idea.”

“Are they impolite?”

“To your brother’s ears, yes.”

Kell laughed quietly. “Then hold onto them and stay the night.”

“Stay the night?” Holland pulled back to look at her, surprise in his gaze. “You’d like me to?”

Kell’s heart soared. She had finally done it. “I’ve wanted to ask you for months. Would you?”

“You’ll be the end of me, Kell,” Holland grinned. “A good end, but still.”

Kell only leaned in for another kiss, then took his hand in hers and guided him into the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> Finally back again after two weeks. Life is pretty hectic right now and I wish you all an easy holiday season and a happy new year if I don't get another chapter finished before then. 
> 
> This is Dinner and Conversation, part 2. Rhy and Holland are playing some version of pool or billiards -- I didn't think too much on how the game would change in Arnes, forgive me; and Alucard and Kell are playing the card game Sanct, which is mentioned in the books, but I based heavily on French Tarot and Texas Hold Em. 
> 
> A weird combination to be sure, but I hope you enjoy!

Rhy stared at the table in front of him, taking in where the multicolored balls had scattered on the green fabric. Nothing to his advantage just yet, but he could make it so. He set up his cue and lined up a shot. “How are you adjusting to our London, Holland?”

The other man regarded him with surprise. “Just fine. Why do you ask?”

“I realized I might never have,” Rhy admitted, straightening back up. He gestured for Holland to take his turn. “Of all the people circulating through court, you are the newest and perhaps most observant of anyone. That isn’t  _ exactly _ a slight to anyone else, but… well, let’s just say I value your opinion more than some.”

“Who’s do you value most?” Holland asked, a half smile on his face as he sunk the ball on his first shot. 

Rhy cursed under his breath, smirking so it was clear he wasn’t totally serious. “My sister’s, of course."

“Of course… I as well. But, I’m liking it just fine, Rhy. It’s a bit disorienting, a bit more colorful than I’m used to, but I’m finding my way. Your sister is largely the reason for that, I will admit.” 

Holland stepped back from the table, leaning up against the wall. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his green eyes following every one of Rhy’s movements. He had said he had never played this game before, but had won their first round and was looking to win the second. Either he was a very fast learner or a very good liar -- and Rhy decided he was fine with whichever the truth was.

Rhy had always liked the Maktahn  _ antari _ , even when his presence in the city was considered more a threat than an asset. Rhy didn’t have the craving, the hunger for collecting magicians like his father had; he didn’t see Holland Vosijk’s materialization as something to capitalize on, something to capture, something to use. Rhy had seen him as a novelty, perhaps a friend or an ally for a magic-less king.

Initially, Rhy had invited him to court out of curiosity -- he had listened to Kell’s stories of the other Londons, hung on every word until they had dried up. White London’s world, after centuries of magic draining from the very earth, had collapsed in on itself; the last frayed remnants of power had dried up, its people abandoning for whatever world lay beyond Kell’s eyes. Holland, it seemed, had escaped it with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. Rhy had wanted to know what had happened, what he had seen, what it had been like before.

Holland had entertained his questions politely, offering more stories than Kell ever could have. Rhy had kept inviting him back for the stories, the novelty. He and Alucard had both thought he was handsome, the confidence he showed infectious. Alucard had liked his eyes; Rhy had liked his hands. Neither of them was sure enough of the other man’s interest to extend an offer.

Then Kell had appeared and stolen him away.

“Is she really?” Rhy managed to sink one ball, then completely missed another clear shot. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders and revising his strategy. “She’s quite an excellent guide. She always knew where to go when I had the itch to escape all of this, which I did often.”

Holland hummed. “Too hemmed in as a teenager?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Kell has all but said as much,” Holland replied in an easy tone. He positioned his cue, then looked up at Rhy. “About herself, I should say. I figured if it was that way for her, it might be the same for you.”

“See? I knew you were observant,” Rhy cheered, flashing a bright smile. “But, yes, we were. Kell more than I. As long as Kell was nearby, I had a free run of the city.”

“Was that by design?”

“Not precisely. My parents probably didn’t expect Kell to be my protector as we drank the city dry as teenagers, but they did always expect her to be my protector.” Rhy paused long enough to sink another shot. “After they died, it took a lot of convincing for her to just be my sister, not my guard.”

“I’m sure. She’s quite stubborn.”

“You’ve noticed?”

“It’s one of the things I love about her.”

“So you love her?” The words flew from Rhy’s lips before he could think better. They were already out, so he did his best to rearrange his face to a friendly neutral. No sense in looking serious. He didn’t imagine Holland would be so very intimidated by him, but if he didn’t want to do anything upset Kell.

Holland had been bent over the pool table when the question hit the air. Rhy watched, apprehensive, as the dark haired man paused, then pulled himself up to full height. He rested his cue on the edge of the table, his face lost in thought. After about a minute, he looked up at Rhy, face completely unreadable. “How long have you been waiting to ask me that?”

Rhy swallowed hard. “All night. Longer perhaps, if I’m honest.”

“Frankly, I had wondered why you hadn’t yet cornered me about it…” Holland exhaled. He resumed his position against the wall, fixing Rhy with that even, clear, green stare. “You worry, I’m sure.”

“She worried for me our whole childhood. The least I can do is return the favor as an adult.” Rhy stopped himself before he revealed too much. He cleared his throat and glanced across the room, to where Kell and Alucard were wrapped up in a game of cards. Neither at all wise to him, Holland, or their conversation. “But, if you don’t mind my asking… what  _ do _ you feel for my sister?”

“What I feel…” 

Holland exhaled, long and slow. Hands set on the edge of the table, he looked truly, deeply lost in thought. Not the expression of a man who was searching to impress or placate, Rhy noted. Simply one looking for the right words, for the truest words he could find. Waiting made his protective instinct prickle, but Rhy was content to wait. 

“Rhy, I feel…” Holland paused, stuck again. He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, then started again. “It is as if the whole of my world was pulled into one body meant for me to hold and care for. So that I might know the true gravity of what I have left.”

Rhy had plenty of answers prepared for whatever Holland would say -- ones of disappointment, ones serious, ones pleasant and encouraging. All of them were stuck in his throat. All of them could have been matched to predictable answers or admissions, but none quite fit this. It was honest. It was careful. It carried it’s own pulse. It left Rhy momentarily speechless, a rare occasion to be sure.

“Forgive me, Rhy. I’m not usually so free with words,” Holland finished quietly.

“What’s there to forgive?” Rhy said, soft but sure. He stepped forward and perched himself on the edge of the table, as if they never stopped their game.

“Rhy?”

Rhy lifted his cue, aiming for a green colored ball. “Holland, you answered my question. That’s all I was looking for.”

“I understand, but--?”

“But you’re looking for a verdict, aren’t you?” Rhy looked at him. He leaned into his next shot, then answered: “It’s been years since anyone that stuck Kell’s fancy has been so honest with me. It’s been years since anyone has struck Kell’s fancy.”

“And?”

“And it’s been years since any one of them thought of her half as highly as you clearly do.” Rhy lined up and made his shot, sinking the ball in one. He smiled to himself, sliding off the edge of the table. “Treat her well, Holland. There will be hell to play if you don’t.”

Holland offered a weak smile. “From you?”

“No, from her. You know what they say about redheads and tempers?”

“Yes.”

“All true. I should know. Hopefully you won’t.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’re preening, Kell.” 

Kell hummed and set down a card. “And you’re a sore loser, Luc. Sanct. Pay up.”

“Shit…” Alucard mumbled, dropping the rest of his hand unceremoniously on the table. He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Deal another round?”

Kell flashed him a winning smile. “Happily.”

“Happily divorce me from my spending money.”

“I wasn’t the one who instituted the betting.” Kell said with a knowing look. She quietly shuffled the deck -- an intricately illustrated, gilt-bordered deck Alucard had brought back with him from his time at sea. They hadn’t been a gift, but a peace offering - the deck he had set in front of her the first time he asked her to play a round of  _ sanct _ with her. That had been seven years ago and the cards were still crisp and beautiful. She set the deck down in between them. “Cut the deck.”

Alucard smirked and did as she asked, his blue eyes sparkling. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

“I wouldn’t hazard a guess,” Kell replied breezily. Recollecting the cards, she began dealing them each an even hand. “Probably me, don’t you think?”

“Are you really so captivating, Kell?” Alucard teased.

“Who are you to say I’m not?” Kell rolled her eyes. She picked up her cards and gestured for him to do the same. They fell into an easy pattern, the quiet pick up, trading, and turn over of cards. The pair had come to play a lot over the years, knew one another’s tells well. Each hand could go either way. Kell enjoyed the chance to talk with someone who, for a very long time, hadn’t cared about her feelings and still had the habit of being fantastically blunt. So Kell felt herself leaning in, posed to ask a simple question. “May I ask you something?”

“You can always ask,” Alucard said, placing three cards down and taking a quick drag off a pipe. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“You’ll always answer.”

“Depends on what the question is--.”

“Alucard!”

“Kell!” He shot her an amused glance. “Ask the question or play your hand.”

Kell sniffed. She laid out two cards, picking up another two and tried not to scowl. “I was wondering… what, erm, does it feel like when you’re around my brother?”

Alucard watched her for a moment, one eyebrow pulling up in an arc. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Alright…” Kell leaned forward, biting her pinkie nail. She dropped all her cards, forfeiting to the former captain. “I mean, like butterflies, nerves. When you’re around him, how… how did you know he was the, the one for you?”

“Is this about your friend over there?” Alucard asked, head tilting. 

She could see he was intrigued by the sparkle in his blue eyes, feeling her heart sink into her stomach. Surely he would know better than to give her away. She was just asking an innocent question to try and figure something out, that was all. She just chewed harder on her fingernail, blinking a few times. She hoped that would suffice for a  _ yes _ .

“Kell Maresh,” Alucard drawled. A mischievous grinned pulled at his lips. He tossed his cards down onto the table. “Are you trying to ask me if you’re  _ in love _ ?”

She buried her face in har hands. “Don’t say it so loudly,  _ please _ …”

“But that is what you’re asking me?”

“No, I’m-.” Kell cut herself off. It was instinct to argue with the man; instinct to push back and scowl and curl her nose up at him. It was a conscious effort on her part not to do just that.  _ She _ was the one asking the question, she reminded herself.  _ She _ was the one who couldn’t tell the difference between anxiety and adoration.

Knocking sounded on the table top. She looked up to Alucard, knuckles poised above the wood. “Why don’t you tell me what you feel and I’ll tell you what I think?”

“A diagnosis then?” Kell sighed.

“Something like that,” Alucard shrugged.

Kell chewed her nail for a few moments longer, then nodded. She collected the cards again -- something to focus on as she talked. Something that wasn’t the expression Alucard was making. She didn’t want to know if she was being made fun of until it was all out in the open. “It’s hard to explain, because it doesn’t feel like just one thing at any one time. Like, just now at dinner, I was warm all over, happy, relaxed which is saying something. When its just the two of us--.”

“ _ Scandalous _ ,  _ varnesa _ .”

“ _ Hush _ . I’m not finished.” Kell cleared her throat, cut the deck, and continued. “When it’s just the two of us… I don’t know. I just want to sit next to him, hear him talk. About anything really, he could count every stitch on my bedroom curtains and I would listen to every word.”

“Hmm, this sounds very serious indeed,” Alucard teased with a wink. “Let me ask you one thing.”

“If you must.”

“I must, Kell, if you want a proper  _ diagnosis _ . How does it feel when he takes your hand?”

Kell thought for a moment. “It feels as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters.”

“Well that’s very helpful for knowing how he feels about  _ you _ , Kell. But I meant you,” Alucard pressed. “How do you feel?”

“I just told you,” Kell sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I meant myself, Alucard. He takes my hand and I  _ know _ that in that moment, I am all that matters. That if I stumbled, he would catch me before I fell. That if I needed help home, he would make sure I got there….” She pulled her hand away and blinked her eyes open. “I cannot possibly explain to you how novel a feeling that is for me. To know someone sees me and is thinking only of me… I would sell my soul to hold onto that feeling, Alucard.”

Alucard only stared at her, a mix of kindness and pity in his features. Kell couldn’t stand it for long. She cut the deck and dealt another for them to play, slouching low in her chair. She used her cards to hide her face for as long as possibly, crossing her legs to ease the uncomfortable sense of being stripped bare in front of him. They played through that hand, then another, and another, all the while Kell chiding herself for saying too much.

On the fourth hand, Alucard kicked her in the ankle. “Kell, look at me.”

She said nothing, lowering her cards so just her eyes were visible above the gold edges.

Alucard’s expression had lost the pity, either replaced or covered over by the pipe hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “You’re in love with him and he is very much in love with you. I can tell you that much just from watching the pair of you at dinner.”

Kell gave a weak noise as an answer.

Alucard exhaled a thin cloud of pipe smoke. “And, for the record, it’s a pity that it’s taken this long for you to know what that feels like. I mean that, by the way. You deserve better than that.”

“Thank you…”

“No, none of that… it’s your turn, by the way. And, if I’ve done my math correctly, you have the three cards that will obliterate my hand.”

Kell suppressed a grin and laid down all six of her cards, her embarrassment forgotten for the moment. “Shall I deal again, or have you lost enough money for the evening?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought today was Monday. Three day weekends for you, huh?
> 
> This is a part 1 on 2 with a "the morning after" follow up. So, if you're averse to things getting a little sexy and sappy, the next chapter might not be for you. Fair warning, but this one is all sappy angst because reasons.
> 
> Special thanks to Lumau, who has done some absolutely stunning art for this fic -- one of Kell and Holland, another of Rhy and Alucard. They are gorgeous pieces; I am overwhelmed and grateful that anyone would do art for my writing at all. You can find the portraits here (Kell and Holland: https://lumau.tumblr.com/post/639969736861581312/for-orchidscript-s-fanfic-a-sweet-far-thing) and here (Rhy and Luc: https://lumau.tumblr.com/post/640058523268612096/and-here-are-also-rhy-and-alucard-for).
> 
> So, thank you so very very much. This one's for you, enjoy :)

A high, clear note from the singer on stage jolted Holland awake. He pulled himself up straighter in his chair, sucking in a lungful of air. He blinked in a feeble attempt to get his bearings, but was still cloaked in that soft, bed-warm feeling. The royal box was hushed around him, the music too loud to hear anything for a few moments.

When the orchestra softened, he could hear the quietest of snickers. Turning his head, he could make out Kell in the dim light, a hand pressed over her mouth. When she caught him looking, the hand pressed tighter and she nearly doubled over.

“Is my exhaustion so very funny to you?” Holland whispered, grinning and reaching for her hand. 

Kell took his hand, but didn’t answer. She kept her mouth covered, humor twinkling in her eyes. The crystals and beads that adorned her evening gown twinkled in the candlelight of the theater, her shoulders shaking with her laughter.

“It’s alright if it is,” Holland continued, running a thumb across the top of her hand. A crooked smile formed on his lips, humor keeping him awake. “A grown man, falling asleep just as the evening is beginning… I’m not cut out for this high class lifestyle of yours, dear.”

Holland was only half-joking in that statement. He had known for months now -- almost a full seven, if he sat back to think about it -- that he would taken Kell’s hand and allow her to lead him anywhere. It was not difficult, not an action he hesitated in. The trust that had slowly knitted itself into him over time was sure. And Kell, with her natural disdain for the trappings of royalty, had chosen places far flung and uncomplicated -- bookstores, curiosity shops, public gardens, taverns and festivals, places one could feel invisible in the crush.

Kell had asked him to the theater that night and Holland had accepted. He had expected the same then as all the others. The departure was jarring.

He had not prepared himself for the opulence of the Royal Theater; its flying golden arches, massive glittering chandeliers, soaring boxes, and sumptuous red velvet. He had not understood he would have to greet and make nice with the horde that was Arnes’ elite families. He had not steeled himself for the cutting half-compliments, the derisive side-glances at his suit and the way Kell looped her arm in his. He had simply nodded and said something unobtrusive, a tactic he had developed over years and years of having no other option. He had leaned further onto Kell’s answers and her prompting him, waiting for the lights to dim announcing the start of the performance; waiting for the moment when Kell would excuse the both of them from the rest of the aristocrats, guiding him away from the dizzying swirl of things he did not understand or care to pretend to.

Holland Vosijk was a man raised in another world. He was a man who paid no mind to fashions or whims, preferring the safety of his own council above all others. He stuck to the practicality of suits that still fit him well, of books who’s endings he knew by heart. He had never felt himself bend towards the frivolous, the luxurious. He was a man meant for another life that was no longer possible in a world that no longer existed, as far as he knew.

He knew it. 

Kell knew it. 

Very few others ever would.

Holland Vosijk knew he was out of place in this theater, that the music and costumes and lighting was not meant for his eyes or ears. He understood his suit was out of fashion, that his tie faded and knotted in an old style. He understood the disdain levelled in his direction and was well versed at not letting the shame it inspired drag him down. He also understood that Kell did not mind him and his set ways; that she would always be a shield of sorts between him and the sycophants the court had retained. That she would always take him gently by the hand and lead the way.

She had not said it in clear-cut words, but Holland knew she loved him. Loved him as much as he knew he loved her. 

So, no, Holland Vosijk knew he did not belong in that soft theater, sat next to the crown princess as she giggled at his inability to keep his eyes open in an opera. He did not deserve to be in a royal box, rubbing elbows with Arnes’ wealthiest citizens. Holland had come to understand there were many things in life that he had not deserved but had no power to control.

Holland knew he deserved  _ her _ ; deserved the love and warmth and favor Kell gave him so freely.

He knew he lavished her with the returns and more.

“I suppose not,” Kell finally whispered in his ear, having recovered herself. “But I would be lost without you.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Holland said. He turned his head, smiling as his nose brushed her’s. “You’ve proven yourself very adept at walking the tightrope, love.”

A shell pink blush rose in Kell’s cheeks as Holland watch her melt. “Just because I’m good at it, doesn’t mean I want to do it.”

“I know your feelings on your title, I’ll never forget,” Holland murmured, brushing his nose against hers as he spoke. He could feel the subtle change in her grip on his fingers, the soft noise that worked its way out of her throat with her sigh. If he could have gotten away with it, Holland would have pulled her into his lap then and there; would have happily sunk to his knees and slipped under her skirts. He couldn’t here -- there were simply too many eyes -- but he could elsewhere. He leant close to her ear, close enough to feel her shiver. “Would you come back to mine after?”

“Yours?” Kell stumbled over her words.

“Yes, my rooms.”

“For a night cap.”

“If you like. I’d selfishly like to know the  _ ostra  _ and  _ vestra _ saw you leaving with me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Kell snickered. She leaned away, a glittering smile on her features. “Fall back asleep if you like. We can’t share everything, Holl.”

~*~*~*~

“Welcome,” Holland said, sweeping an arm as he opened the door to his rented rooms. It wasn’t much, only a kitchen, sitting room, and his bedroom. Fairly small, a little cluttered, but enough for him. Enough for the two of them. “It isn’t as grand as what you’re used to—.”

“I love it,” Kell blurted out. She grinned at him, walking into the heart of the sitting room and turning in place. Her eyes trailed up and down the walls and bookshelves, over the furniture and fireplace and rug. “It… It’s almost precisely what I imagined.”

Holland huffs a laugh, shutting and locking the door behind him. “Do I dare ask what that says about me, Kell?”

He stepped forward to take her coat from her, settling his hands gently on her shoulders. She looked out of place standing among the worn velvet and scuffed floors. The pale lilac silk of her dress, her intricate silver jewelry, the silken embroidery of her coat — all of it clashed with his humbler surroundings. A princess standing among his full-to-bursting shelves and dusty drapes. Even her incense and violet perfume was too extravagant for his small home.

“Good things,” Kell answered in a low voice, leaning into his hands. “You’ll forgive me if I can’t find the right words.”

“The wine going to your head, already?” Holland slipped the coat from her shoulders, pressing a kiss to the curve of her jaw. 

Kell hummed. “Perhaps, but I didn’t fall asleep like you did. I had to stay interesting and awake somehow.”

“Because you’re cultured and mannered.”

“Because I have to be polite to the court even when I’m not  _ in court _ ,” Kell rolled her eyes and dropped gracelessly onto the sofa. “If I had half a brain, Holland, I would have picked somewhere quieter for us to spend the evening.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I hate being boxed in on all sides like that,” Kell sniffed, pursing her lips. “I feel like I’m doing my brother’s work for him, but to no end. They’re so desperate to keep the spots my parents gave them, so convinced that Rhy’s going to do a clean sweep one day, that bothering me at the theater counts as a show of loyalty.”

Holland settled into the spot next to her. “I suppose that involves me now.”

“Not if you don’t want it,” Kell sighed. She slouched low against the cushions, resting a hand on Holland’s knee. “Truly. I absolutely detest having to play polite with them, and I won’t bring you into something I hate if I don’t have to.”

“If you say so,” Holland shrugged, taking her hand in his and brushing a kiss across the knuckles. “But I wouldn’t want our idle gossip to be affected. I know how much you enjoy it, Kell.”

“Of course I do! I grew up with them pandering to me, then rolling their eyes at me as soon as I turned away. They did the very same thing tonight, don’t think I didn’t notice!” Kell exclaimed. “Rhy once proposed spreading the rumor that he was going to abdicate and put me in his place, just to see what mayhem would break loose. For fun.”

“I appreciate your brother’s sense of humor.”

“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t talked him out of the idea…” Kell mused, her voice trailing off. She sighed and dropped back onto the couch cushions, hand still held in Holland’s. “I’d be a terrible ruler. I wasn’t meant for it.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t. I won’t pretend I was. Rhy was given the statesman’s education. I was given the magician’s… I appreciate that you didn’t argue with me just then.”

Holland shrugged his shoulders. “It may be selfish, but if you were in your brother’s position, I can’t imagine you would be here with me right now. And what a shame that would be…” He flashed her a wry smile, kissing her hand again. “I don’t believe I was meant for it either, Kell.”

“No?” Kell blinked at him, a funny half-smile coming over her features. “I think you’d look quite handsome in a crown.”

“I wouldn’t… I know intimately how easily power can go wrong and how quickly rule can be corrupted, twisted.” Holland stopped himself, pressing his lips together in a thin line. For a moment he looked sharp, serious. A survivor in profile. An instant later it melted away, just as Kell was grasping it. “I don’t imagine you accepted my invitation so you could hear me talk about the past?”

Kell shook her head, pushing herself up off the cushions to lean against his shoulder. “Not precisely, but I would listen to you all day long if I could… Why did you invite me here?”

“You said you wanted a night cap.”

“You invited me before I suggested that.”

Holland laughed to himself, looking down at their hands. “I wanted a moment alone with you, perhaps a whole evening alone with you. I’ve seen much of your rooms, of the palace, but you’ve never been here with me… I wanted to remedy that.”

“Holland…” Kell purred next to him. She leaned into him, her perfume washing over his senses as her lips softly traced the shell of his ear. She let her free hand trail down his arm, settling purposefully at his thigh. The gravity of her blue eyes, the natural pull of her smile, the dizzying knowledge that her voice sounded deep and honeyed only for him. “That wasn’t the only thing you wanted.. I hope.”

“No,” Holland breathed, the words falling out before he realized it.

“What did you want when you asked me, Holland?”

“This.”

He took a steadying breath and turned, just enough to capture her lips with his. In one fluid motion, he pulled his hands from hers to hold her slim waist and press her down onto the worn fabric of the sofa. A clear gasp escaped her mouth as he pressed his lips to her neck, holding her close with one hand as the other wandered between her legs. Her hands flew to his hair, tangling and pulling just the way she had discovered he liked. Her hips pressed up into his palm, one leg hanging languidly off the edge. Holland smiled into her neck as her pulse sped under her skin, as he felt her swell against his fingers.

“Show me your bedroom,” she said quickly, the words running together.

“Yes?” Holland pulled away.

Kell stared up with blue eyes darkened with lust, lips pink and just swollen. Her red hair was coming free from it’s pins. A red mark was forming on the pale skin of her neck. She nodded, dazed. “Yes.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Finally back with an update -- a little spicy sojourn before getting back to actual plot and angst. This is more explicit than other chapters, so be forewarned if that's not what you're looking for. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

“H-Holland,” Kell whispered, the hitch in her breath palpable. Her nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, her breath hot against his ear. It only pushes Holland to hold her closer, feel her more, run his hands over her shoulders and hips, up her thighs, coming to settle at the closed busk of her corset. 

“Yes?”

“Stop… Please, for a minute?”

Holland didn’t need telling twice. He pulled away as if her skin could scorch him, breathing hard. His eyes settle on her face, the gentle flush under her cheeks, the subtle worry in her eyes. “What is it? Are you alright?”

“Fine, yes, fine,” Kell answered, clearing her throat lightly. “I’m fine. I just needed… needed air…”

“Of, of course. Anything,” Holland breathes. He gives her a warm, reassuring smile, but still watched her hand lay protectively across her corset. When he reached out to touch her cheek, Kell leaned into it. “Anything you need, love… but, is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, nothing—,” Kell cut herself off and let out a slow breath. She stares at her hand where it lay. She’s quiet and still for a few moments. “I’ve never… Oh,  _ sanct _ …”

“Never, what?” Holland pressed gently. “Never.. been with someone?”

“No, not that. I… I’ve never.” Kell bites deeply into her lip. “I’ve never had it off in front of anyone. It feels strange.”

Holland swallows and nods. “Your corset?”

He runs his thumb slowly over the sharp edge of her cheekbone as he thinks. Only the crackle in the fireplace sounds in the room for several long minutes. Holland can feel Kell losing her nerve and leans forward to kiss her on the nose. “You know… I wouldn’t mind if you kept it on."

Kell looked up at him incredulously. “You wouldn’t?”

Holland shook his head, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “Not at all. We don’t have to at all, love, but if you’d like to, Kell, I’d happily have you anyway you like. I’m actually a little surprised you let me get this far.”

Kell hesitated. A hand came up to her face, fingers floating between her hair and her collarbone. She shrunk back into herself, another arm coming to wrap protectively around herself. Smaller, curling in on herself. A protective shell, an old habit, sliding over her shoulders. “Were you expecting me to be frigid?”

Holland wanted to touch her, wanted to pull her close until those old defenses fell. Instead, he leaned in and pressed another kiss to her cheek. “I wasn’t expecting anything. But I would never think you frigid.” He rested his forehead against hers. “You couldn’t be frigid if you tried.”

“I could and I have been before…” Kell murmured, eyes lowering to the floor where she stood in stocking feet. She was avoiding it, avoiding him. Holland wouldn’t give her the room to do that.

“You’ve never been with me.”

“You aren’t my first, Holland…”

“Kell,” Holland said softly, attempting to earn her gaze with a tender voice. When she didn’t look up, he brushed his nose against hers. “Can you tell me what you would like?”

The air between them went still again, balancing on tenterhooks. Red curls, freed from their pins and decorations, fell down her neck, over her shoulders and settled in her eyelashes, tangling with every blink. Holland waited, trying to be patient, trying not to push. After several minutes of nothing, even his resolve was beginning to waver. He kissed the tip of her nose, then began to pull away.

Two slim fingers caught the collar of his shirt. “I would like your mouth on me.”

“Where?”

“Between my legs.”

“And then?”

“I want you inside me.” There was a steadying breath, and then: “I want you to look at me, Holland.”

He didn’t need telling twice. He settled his gaze back on her eyes, blue and black each; his heart skipped a beat to find them collected, serious, just the way he had always known them. The protective shell had receded some -- not completely, he could see it still in the tilt of her chin and the set of her hips. But Holland could see her again and clearly.

_ Varnesa _ Kell Maresh in all her pale, statuesque sharpness.

Kell Maresh, flirtatious and warm and her own.

Kell,  _ his _ Kell, pushing herself up off the wall. Reaching up to touch his cheek with her fingers, the delicate scratch of fingernails against skin. The press of a thumb into his lower lip, just at the edge of letting him taste. The part of her own lips, plump and pink. The heart-skipping feeling of her black eye connecting with his own. Like seeing like, magic meeting itself. Holland felt himself leaning in more, catching himself against the wall again, happily letting himself being pulled under by her. 

A metallic popping sound rose to his ears and he glanced down to see her left hand working to open the busk of her corset. Kell’s eyes never left his face, still held his eyes ast they returned. Holland didn’t let them wander again, not even at the heavy drop of fabric against wooden floorboards. Not even when Kell took his hand, guiding his palm to the line of her waist. Her hand leaves his, moving to cradle his face.

“Take care of me, Holland,” Kell murmurs. “I am not as sturdy as I seem.”

“I will,” Holland replied, whispering. He moves his hand in slow circles over the thin cotton of her combination, his palm soaking up the warmth of her skin through the fabric. “You trust me?”

“I trust you,” she breathes. She shifts her weight, leaning further into Holland’s hand. He took the hint and wrapped his arms around her waist, taking her whole weight from her. He cradles her close to his chest, sighing into her neck at the sensation. He feels more of her than ever before -- her slight frame, the sharp crest of her hip bones, the ridge of her ribs. All of the softness he knew stripped away with her discarded petticoats and ruffles. Kell was not soft -- not in her words, not in her mannerisms, not in her stubbornness. Now, Holland knew, not of body either.

He smiled faintly into her auburn hair, the scents of incense and violent lingering there. He squeezed her close. “I like you best this way.”

He’s relieved to hear Kell laugh lightly in his ear. “Oh you do?”

“I do. I love you like this,” Holland replied. Only after the words were out did he realize he had stumbled into the right moment. He closed his eyes and tucked his face into her neck. “I love  _ you _ . More than I can say.”

Kell’s breath caught in her throat -- Holland can hear the hitch as much as he can feel it. She’s quiet for a few moments, her fingers running idly through his hair. When she speaks, its hushed and reverent, laced with equal parts disbelief and amazement. “I love you, Holland.”

“Would you like to have your way with me now?”

“ _ Please _ .”

Holland laid her on his bed, running his hands over every bit of skin he can reach before undressing himself. Kell propped herself up on her elbows, watching him intently as his shirt, trousers, socks, and more joined her gown and slips on the floor. Her legs spread as he crawled over her, her eyes glittering as she settled down on the quilt. Once again, Holland couldn’t help feel like she was entirely out of place there despite looking more at home than she had in nearly half an hour. Everything about his surroundings were worn and lived in, a fact he hardly noticed before now. He pushed aside the itching feeling of inadequacy in favor of kissing her deeply, savoring the press of her hips to his, the brush of her legs against his, the soft moans in her throat.

“Should I move?”

“Yes.”

Holland slid a hand up under her slip, lightly stroking between her legs. “Here?”

“ _ Holland _ ,” she whined, just starting to squirm.

“Yes, darling?” Holland grinned, moving his fingers still. One more frustrated whine and, “Yes, yes, alright. I’ll move.”

“ _ Sanct _ ,” Kell sighed. “Thank you.”

He slowly slid down her body, pushing the thin fabric slip up over her hips, leaving her finally bare in front of him. He settles his fingers at her thighs, massaging and teasing in equal measure. He keeps his hands there as his licks, then sucks, then swallows her down completely. A high squeal comes from above him and Kell’s legs tighten up around his shoulders. Pride surges in his chest -- unraveling her bit by bit, making her squirm and pant, it lit up something deep inside his chest that had been dormant for many years.

He relaxed his throat, letting her slide deeper. Kell’s hips twitch and buck underneath him, quick movements giving into instinct but trying not to choke him. Holland leans into the whole of it. He moves his hands into the equation. Fingers grasping and sliding around her in time with his mouth; sliding over sensitive skin to bring her gasping and trembling to a fever pitch; the lightest circling press to her backside.

“ _ Sanct, Holland! _ ” She yelped. Her legs draw up further to her chest, heaving with heavy breaths.

Holland pulled off of her. He grinned as he saw her, eyes closed and biting deeply into her lip, appearing thoroughly debauched. The first of many times, he hoped silently. “Alright?”

“Oh! You weren’t supposed to stop!”

“I wasn’t?”

“No!”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You, um-, I,” Kell panted, then let out a huff in frustration. “Let me finish in your mouth. Please?”

Holland answered by swallowing her back down. 

"I’m, I’m, I- oh!"

Holland hums around her and Kell's eyes fly open, staring wide-eyed as there isn't any time for more. Her hips jerk up, thrusting into his mouth as she came down his throat, groaning. Her fingers twist and tangle in her own hair, pulling. Holland doesn't pull back, keeping up until Kell succumbs to the over stimulation. He is overwhelmed himself, and he pulls away enough to wilt bonelessly against the mattress, head pillowed against her leg. 

Minutes pass before she sits up, looking down at him with hazy eyes. She reaches out to pull him close, her hands and arms and shoulders shaking, trying to kiss him and missing. Holland delights in how far gone she is in that moment. “Come here. Please? For only a minute?”

Holland gives her a loopy, utterly gorgeous smile and crawls over Kell. He lowers his hips to hers and presses sloppy kisses to the woman’s mouth. Kell wraps her legs tight around Holland’s waist. He feels her grins into the kiss. “Only a minute? Are you sure?”

“You aren’t  _ that old _ , Holland.”

“No, but I could use more than a minute before I take care of you again, love... Will you stay the night?"

"If you'll have me."

"I will, as many times as you like."


End file.
